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BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

o 

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OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


FUND. 


Jitarp  l^allodi  Jocte. 


THE  LEO-HORSE  CLAIM.  A  Romance  of  a. 
Mining  Camp.  Illustrated  by  the  Author. 
i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

JOHN  BODEWIN'S  TESTIMONY.  i2mo,$i.so; 
paper,  50  cents. 

THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL     i6mo,  $1.25. 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK. 


THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL 


AND 


THE   FATE  OF  A  VOICE 


BY 


MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTE 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE 


".AND  "JOHN  BODEWIN'S 


BOSTON    AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1889 


Copyright,  1886, 
BY  THE  CENTURY  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1889, 
BY  MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


IE   Is 


CONTENTS. 


THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL.  PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY 5 

PART  I.  THE  SITUATION  ....  9 
PART  II.  THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED  .  .  82 
PART  III.  THE  CATASTROPHE  .  .  .  136 

THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE  .  .  215 


THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

THE  East  generalizes  the  West  much  as 
England  has  the  habit  of  generalizing  Amer- 
ica ;  taking  note  of  picturesque  outward  dif- 
ferences, easily  perceived  across  a  breadth  of 
continent.  Among  other  unsafe  assump- 
tions, the  East  has  decided  that  nothing  can 
be  freer  and  simpler  than  the  social  life  of 
the  far  West,  exemplified  by  the  flannel 
shirt  and  the  flowing  necktie,  the  absence  of 
polish  on  boots  and  manners. 

But  as  a  matter  of  experience,  no  society 
is  so  puzzling  in  its  relations,  so  exacting  in 
its  demands  upon  self-restraint,  as  one  which 
has  no  methods,  which  is  yet  in  the  stage  of 
fermentation.  Middle  age  has  decided,  or 
has  learned  to  dispense  with,  many  things 
which  youth  continues  to  fash  itself  about ; 


6  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

and  the  older  societies,  with  all  their  perpet- 
uated grooves  and  deep-rooted  complexities, 
are  freer  and  more  cheerful  than  the  new. 

In  constructing  a  pioneer  community  one 
must  add  to  the  native,  Western-born  ele- 
ment, the  "tenderfoot"  element,  so  called, — 
self-conscious,  new  to  surrounding  standards, 
warped  by  disappointment  or  excited  by  suc- 
cess, torn,  femininely  speaking,  between  a 
past  not  yet  abandoned  and  a  present  reluc- 
tantly accepted.  Add,  generally,  the  want 
of  homogeneity  in  a  population  hastily  re- 
cruited from  divers  States,  cities,  nationali- 
ties, with  a  surplus  of  youth,  energy,  inca- 
pacity, or  misfortune  to  dispose  of ;  add  the 
melancholy  of  a  land  oppressed  by  too  much 
nature,  —  not  mother  nature  of  the  Christian 
poets,  but  nature  of  the  dark  old  mythologies, 
—  the  spectacle  of  a  creation  indeed  scarcely 
more  than  six  days  old.  When  Adam's 
celestial  visitor  (in  the  seventh  book  of  Par- 
adise Lost)  condescends  to  relate  how  the 
world  was  first  created,  he  gives  an  astonish- 
ing picture  of  the  sixth  and  last  great  act ; 
when  the  earth  brought  forth  the  living 
creature  after  its  kind  regardless  of  zones 
and  habitudes,  crawling,  wriggling,  pawing 


INTROD  UCTOR  Y.  7 

from  the  sod,  rent  to  favor  the  transmission. 
Life  on  the  surface  could  not  have  been  sim- 
ple, for  a  few  days  at  least,  after  that  violent 
and  promiscuous  birth. 

The  life  of  the  West  historically,  like  the 
story  of  Man,  is  an  epic,  a  song  tale  of  grand 
meanings.  Socially,  it  is  a  genesis,  a  form- 
less record  of  beginnings,  tragic,  grotesque, 
sorrowful,  unrelated,  except  as  illustrations 
of  a  tendency  towards  confusion  and  failure, 
with  contrasting  lights  of  character,  and  high 
personal  achievement.  The  only  successful 
characterizations  of  it  in  literature  have 
treated  it  in  this  episodic  manner. 

But  looking  forward  to  the  story  in  peri- 
ods, the  West  has  a  future,  socially,  of  enor- 
mous promise.  It  has  all  the  elements  of 
greatness,  when  it  shall  have  passed  the 
period  of  uncouth  strivings,  and  that  later 
stage  of  material  satisfaction  which  is  the 
sequel  to  the  age  of  force.  The  East  denies 
it  modesty,  but  there  is  a  humility  that 
apes  pride  as  well  as  a  pride  that  apes 
humility.  It  has  never  been  denied  gen- 
erosity, charity,  devotedness,  humor  of  a 
peculiarly  effective  quality,  a  desire  for  self- 
improvement,  unconquerable,  often  pathetic, 


8  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

courage,  and  enthusiasm.  It  has  that 
admixture  of  contrasting  national  types 
which  gives  us  the  golden  thread  of  genius. 
Finally,  the  New  South  is  seeking  its  fu- 
ture there  —  not  a  future  of  conquest,  but 
of  patience  and  hard  work. 

The  West  is  not  to  be  measured  by  home- 
sick tales  from  an  Eastern  point  of  view. 
The  true  note  will  be  struck  when  the  alien 
touch  no  longer  blunts  the  chord,  groping  for 
futile  harmonies,  through  morbid  minor 
strains ;  when  we  have  our  novelists  of  the 
Pacific  slope,  cosmopolite  by  blood,  accli- 
mated through  more  than  one  generation  to 
the  heady  air  of  the  plains,  bred  in  the  tra- 
ditions of  an  older  civilization  —  or,  better 
still,  with  a  wild  note  as  frank  as  that  which 
comes  to  us  from  the  sad  northern  steppe. 


PART  I. 

THE  SITUATION. 


THE  overland  train  which  took  westward, 
in  the  fall  of  1879,  Francis  Embury,  aged 
twenty-four,  swung  along  to  the  rhythm  of 
certain  well-strummed  stanzas  that  sang  in 
the  young  man's  head  with  as  genuine,  pas- 
sionate iteration  as  once  they  must  have  beat 
in  the  brain  of  the  poet. 

O   my  cousin,   shallow-hearted !    O  my   Amy,   mine  no 
more ! 

We,  whose  pretty  girl  cousins  are  get- 
ting to  be  middle-aged  ladies,  and  who  have 
ceased  to  shiver  at  the  sounding  metres  of 
Locksley  Hall,  may  smile  at  these  words, 
but  they  had  tingling  meanings  for  the  cousin 
of  Miss  Catherine  Mason  of  Mamaroneck,  in 
the  county  of  Westchester. 

O  the  dreary,  dreary  moorland !     O  the  barren,  barren 
shore  I 


10      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

We  know  there  are  no  moorlands  about 
Mamaroneck ;  but  moorlands  or  marsh-lands, 
Amy  or  Catherine,  the  train  clanked  on,  in- 
different to  the  new  burden  or  the  old,  and 
as  to  the  dreariness  and  the  barrenness  and 
the  shallow  -  heartedness,  nothing  need  be 
conceded  on  the  score  of  youthful  wretched- 
ness. 

But  it  would  have  been  going  too  far,  even 
for  the  sake  of  putting  her  more  in  the 
wrong,  to  have  insisted  that  Catherine 
Mason  was  to  be  "  mated  with  a  clown." 
The  clown  of  Westchester  County,  whatever 
may  be  the  nature  of  him,  has  no  attractions 
that  we  know  of  for  the  parents  of  pretty 
cousins,  nor  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ennis  Mason 
at  all  likely  to  bestir  themselves  in  the  mat- 
ter of  a  marriage  connection  for  their  daugh- 
ter. It  was  only  in  a  negative  way  that  they 
concerned  themselves,  and,  as  their  disaf- 
fected young  relative  bitterly  reflected,  where 
the  claimant  was  of  their  own  blood. 

The  difficulty  itself  was  a  despairingly 
simple  one.  Eleanor  Mason,  Catherine's 
elder  sister,  had  married  her  first  cousin, 
after  a  good  deal  of  quiet  but  exceedingly 
earnest  discussion,  which  had  gone  on  over 


THE  SITUATION.  11 

the  heads  of  the  younger  members  of  the  fam- 
ily. Francis  Embury  was  not  a  first  cousin, 
but  when  his  turn  came  Mrs.  Mason  had  de- 
clared, without  any  discussion,  that  she  de- 
sired no  more  cousins  in  her  family,  whether 
once  or  twice  removed,  in  the  capacity  of 
sons-in-law.  Her  husband  was  effectually  of 
the  same  mind,  and  the  Emburys,  father  and 
mother,  were  not  behind  in  their  objections. 
It  might  have  been  urged  that  Eleanor's 
marriage,  having  proved  a  happy  one  with 
all  the  usual  blessings  —  and  some  that  were 
unusual  —  upon  it,  should  have  supplied  a 
family  precedent,  but  the  parents  on  both 
sides  illogically  refused  to  consider  it  as 
such.  They  talked  with  their  children  apart, 
and  in  these  conferences  strange  lights  were 
thrown  upon  the  family  history,  a  branch  of 
research  young  people  are  usually  indifferent 
to  until  they  become  heads  of  families  them- 
selves, and  begin  to  look  for  tendencies  in 
their  children,  or  excuses  for  the  same  when 
found.  Old  seals  of  silence  were  broken; 
records,  which  the  elders  of  the  family  keep, 
like  sibylline  books,  closed  against  the  day  of 
doubt  and  confusion,  were  consulted,  and  the 
sky  of  youth,  painted  with  rosy  dreams, 


12      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

showed  portents  which  the  fathers  and  mo- 
thers spared  not  to  interpret  with  prophetic 
plainness. 

The  young  man  was  wild  —  against  his 
parents,  against  her  parents,  against  the  girl 
herself,  who  faltered  and  sickened  and  gave 
up  her  hope. 

She  swept  up  the  bangs  from  her  fair  fore- 
head, which  was  over  high  for  such  strenu- 
ous treatment,  and  clung  more  than  ever  to 
the  mother  who,  with  pain  not  less  than  her 
own,  had  dealt  her  the  blow.  It  is  the  na- 
ture of  some  girls  to  be  "  servile  "  in  this  way, 
as  it  is  the  nature  of  the  young  men  who  suf- 
fer from  their  want  of  spirit  to  call  them 
cold,  characterless,  shallow-hearted  —  "  pup- 
pets," in  short. 

Catherine's  conduct,  it  must  be  confessed, 
was  not  in  the  spirit  of  her  time  and  her 
country ;  she  would  not  declare  for  happiness 
and  her  lover.  The  family  verdict  prevailed, 
and  Frank  Embury  hurled  himself  across 
the  continent  by  the  first  train  westward. 

The  great  mining  boom  of  1879-80  was 
then  in  the  ascendant.  No  doubt  many  of 
the  young  men  who  joined  the  stampede  for 
Leadville  at  this  time  went,  like  Frank,  under 


THE  SITUATION.  13 

conviction  of  the  worthlessness  of  all  that 
remained  to  them  of  life,  especially  the  femi- 
nine portion  of  it,  and  were  the  more  inclined 
to  be  reckless  in  their  bids  for  that  ironical 
species  of  fortune  which  is  said  to  perch 
upon  the  banner  of  love,  at  half-mast. 

A  concussion  of  the  heart,  at  a  time  when 
the  circulation  is  restoratively  active,  has 
pitched  many  a  good  husband  and  useful 
citizen  safely  into  the  midst  of  a  prosperous 
career ;  but  an  average  result  in  these  cases 
must  be  difficult  to  arrive  at  so  long  as  the 
publicity  of  the  experiment  depends  upon  its 
success.  The  failures  go  down  upon  private 
records,  not  easily  traced  or  verified.  In  the 
case  of  Frank  Embury  nothing  worse  seemed 
likely  to  come  of  his  mishap,  his  parents 
flattered  themselves,  than  a  little  timely  at- 
tention to  business  in  a  direction  hitherto 
distasteful  to  the  young  man.  He  remem- 
bered that  he  had  a  profession  —  adopted  to 
please  his  family  and  coquetted  with  since, 
on  various  pretexts  satisfactory  to  no  one  but 
himself.  He  did  not  know,  perhaps,  that 
there  were  already  in  the  camp  upwards  of 
twenty  graduates  of  the  Columbia  School  of 
Mines  alone,  besides  representatives  of  every 


14      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

other  institution  in  the  country  which  has 
the  honor  of  producing  a  yearly  crop  of  civil 
or  mining  engineers.  But  if  he  had  known 
it,  it  is  not  probable  the  fact  would  have  de- 
terred him  from  projecting  himself  upon  his 
fate.  The  malcontents  of  all  kinds  inevi- 
tably go  West,  if  they  are  young  and  not 
well  provided  with  this  world's  goods. 

Frank  lighted  upon  his  feet  in  one  of 
those  communities  which  are  proverbially 
engaged  in  burning  the  candle  at  both  ends. 
Here  were  no  fathers  and  mothers  of  an  age 
to  balk  youth  of  the  courage  of  its  impulses. 
Men  not  much  older  than  himself  gave  the 
tone  in  society  and  in  business ;  rushed  into 
alliances,  offensive  and  defensive ;  declared 
war  and  laughed  in  each  other's  faces  over 
their  shot-guns.  Life  and  death  were  lightly 
held  compared  with  questions  affecting  the 
egoism  of  youth,  its  rights  and  privileges,  its 
haughty  immunities.  Social  knots,  which 
have  been  patiently  picked  at  for  genera- 
tions, these  jaunty  civic  fathers  disposed  of 
at  a  blow. 

Across  the  continent,  clans  and  families 
looked  on  aghast  as  the  spindle  whirled  and 
the  thread  of  these  tense  young  lives  was 


THE  SITUATION.  15 

swiftly  spun ;  and  the  shears,  which  in  older 
communities  are  wont  to  creak  a  little  and 
give  a  poor  moment's  warning,  were  ready 
with  their  work. 

Embury  arrived,  in  time  to  dispute  with  an 
older  graduate  of  his  own  college  the  ominous 
distinction  of  thirteenth  assayer  in  the  camp. 
The  young  men  concluded  to  divide  the  ob- 
jectionable number  between  them,  and  each 
became  the  twelfth  and  a  half.  The  sign  of 
Williams  and  Embury  invited  patronage  as 
assayers  of  metals  or  as  experts  in  the  exam- 
ination of  mines ;  though  it  may  be  assumed 
that  in  the  latter  capacity  the  experience  of 
both  young  partners  put  together  could  have 
been  but  an  expensive  sort  of  guesswork,  for 
those  who  employed  it. 

The  town  was  in  a  state  of  chaotic  expan- 
sion, with  throes  of  laughter  at  its  own  un- 
wieldiness*  It  was  difficult  to  get  enough  to 
eat,  impossible  to  find  a  decent  place  to  eat 
it  in.  Ancient  deplorable  jokes  about  the 
"  Forty-niners,"  who  slept  in  barrels  at  five 
dollars  a  night,  with  their  feet  outside,  were 
revived  with  childish  appreciation  of  their 
humor.  Soft-handed  youths,  fresh  from  East- 
ern colleges  and  ball-rooms,  found  themselves 


16      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

twirling  frying-pans  as  familiarly  as  if  they 
had  been  pretty  girls'  fans  or  favors  in  a 
german,  and  better  than  a  rose  in  a  button- 
hole was  the  button  itself,  when  it  could  be 
relied  upon  not  to  come  off. 

The  Clarendon  Hotel  was  then  building ; 
the  Windsor  had  not  been  projected.  Ranks 
of  men  in  triple  file  lined  the  counters  in 
every  eating-shop,  —  tables  and  chairs  were 
as  yet  not  thought  of,  —  laughing,  shoving, 
gesticulating,  endeavoring  by  bribes  and 
curses  to  influence  the  impartial  tide  of  bad 
victuals  steaming  in  from  the  reeking  kitch- 
ens. Much  time  as  well  as  temper  was  lost 
in  these  periodic  struggles,  and  the  food 
when  captured  was  execrable.  Our  two 
young  men  therefore  adopted  a  mode  of  life 
then  common  in  the  camp,  called  "  baching 
it,"  in  the  two  bare  rooms  they  had  striven 
for  with  several  other  applicants,  before  the 
roof  was  over  them. 

Frank,  who  had  no  gift  for  cooking,  was 
unable  to  dispute  his  manifest  destiny  as 
dishwasher.  It  was  he,  therefore,  who  first 
tired  of  the  mutual  housekeeping,  and  who 
roamed  the  town,  every  hour  he  could  spare 
for  research,  in  the  hope  of  finding  the  com- 


THE  SITUATION.  17 

ing  woman.  Chinese  labor  had  been  ex- 
cluded from  this  camp  of  idealists,  yet  the 
demand  for  white  labor  had  not  created  the 
supply ;  there  was  dearth  of  woman's  cook- 
ing, —  and  eke  of  woman's  dishwashing, 
thought  poor  Frank. 

About  this  time  a  gleam  of  hope  came  to 
him  from  the  "Tent  Bakery,"  as  it  was 
called,  where,  in  the  white  photographic  light 
of  a  canvas  roof,  bread  and  pastry  could  be 
bought  which  had  the  home-made  flavor.  He 
induced  Williams  to  throw  aside  his  skillets 
and  saucepans,  and  the  pair  took  home 
schoolboy  meals  in  paper-bags,  subsisting 
upon  buns  and  canned  meats  and  wearying 
for  the  taste  of  a  hot  broiled  steak.  They 
agreed  that  this  state  of  things  could  not  last, 
watching  hungrily  meanwhile  the  progress 
of  the  new  hotel,  which  filled  an  entire  block 
of  Harrison  Avenue  with  ample  promise  of 
hospitality. 

In  the  mean  time  there  had  come  to  the 
camp  an  intrepid  little  widow  of  —  let  us  say 
Denver,  not  to  be  personal.  She  was  a  wo- 
man of  a  practical  turn,  which  did  not  pre- 
vent her  from  being  decidedly  pretty.  Mrs. 
Fanny  Danskeq  had  not  been  slow  to  per- 


18      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

ceive  the  advantages  of  the  new  camp  as  a 
place  wherein  to  make  a  little  money  quickly 
in  a  way  she  had  thought  of,  and  to  invest  it 
—  with  what  chances  who  could  say?  Her 
way  of  making  money  was  a  very  simple  one. 
For  most  women,  and  under  the  usual  cir- 
cumstances, there  are  few  ways  that  are 
harder ;  but  Mrs.  Dansken  purposed  to  re- 
verse the  usual  anxious  order  of  things  in  the 
business  of  taking  boarders,  and  instead  of 
seeking,  allow  herself  to  be  sought.  In  that 
homeless,  hungry,  distraught  community  of 
men  she  had  reason  to  believe  that  her  ex- 
periment would  be  unique. 

She  took  a  high  tone  from  the  beginning, 
a  comically  lofty  one,  considering  her  re- 
sources ;  but  she  was  careful  that  no  one  but 
the  author  of  the  situation  should  see  the 
fun  of  it.  She  trusted  to  be  able  to  hold  her 
own  until  she  could  afford,  financially  speak- 
ing, to  ship  her  oars  and  spread  her  sails  to 
the  rising  gale  that  was  humming  through 
the  stock  market,  from  Wall  Street  to  the 
Golden  Gate.  Then  it  would  be  time 
enough  to  share  the  joke. 

She  opened  her  house  on  Harrison  Avenue, 
on  the  west  side,  a  few  blocks  above  the  skel- 


THE  SITUATION.  19 

eton  stories  of  her  formidable  rival,  the  Clar- 
endon. No.  9  had  the  usual  square  board 
front,  thinly  painted,  the  new  pine  showing 
with  cold  pinkness  through  a  scumbling  of 
white  lead.  To  the  original  four-room  cabin 
she  had  caused  to  be  added  a  long  extension, 
running  back  into  the  lot  in  which  the  house 
stood  alone.  From  the  kitchen  door  a  path 
led  out  upon  some  vague,  parallel  street, 
where  the  buildings  as  yet  were  too  far  apart 
to  obstruct  the  prospect  across  such  a  hag- 
gard stretch  of  country  as  made  the  new  ten- 
ant homesick  to  look  at,  although  she  was  not 
an  imaginative  person,  and  for  many  years 
had  called  no  place  in  particular  her  home. 
Beyond  were  the  mountains,  giving  perpetual 
emphasis  to  the  human  achievement;  for 
every  item  of  manufactured  material  that 
had  gone  to  the  building  and  plenishing  of 
this  gaunt,  growthy  young  settlement,  every 
circumstance  that  contributed  to  its  insatiate 
life,  from  the  piano  in  its  dance-halls  to  the 
shards  and  rags  on  its  dust-heaps,  had  come 
over  those  sternly  unimplicated  mountains, 
by  ways  needless  to  describe  to  those  who  are 
familiar  with  such  ways,  and  impossible  to 
those  who  are  not.  The  journey  in  itself 


20      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

constituted  an  understood  bond  among  the 
citizens.  Each  knew  how  the  others  had 
got  there,  and  could  guess,  within  limits,  why 
they  had  come.  It  was  not  for  their  health, 
they  gayly  admitted,  looking  about  them  at 
those  bony  foster-mothers,  Breece  and  Freyer 
and  Carbonate  Hills. 

Mrs.  Dansken  found,  as  she  had  antici- 
pated, that  in  making  up  the  tale  of  her 
guests  she  could  take  her  pick  of  the  town. 
The  process  of  selection  was  necessarily  a 
hasty  one ;  but,  considering  the  place,  she 
made  very  few  mistakes.  It  was  under- 
stood that  a  seat  at  her  table  was  to  be  well 
paid  for,  outside  of  the  privilege  itself.  She 
was  perhaps  lucky  in  her  first  applicants; 
these  implied  others  of  the  same  sort.  Very 
soon  a  company  of  sunburned  faces  that 
would  have  been  presentable  anywhere,  met 
nightly  in  the  light  of  the  crimson  silk- 
shaded  lamp,  the  sun  and  centre  of  Mrs. 
Dansken's  dinner-table. 

It  is  laughable,  it  is  pitiful,  to  remember 
how  little  it  took  to  create  something  like  an 
environment  in  that  home  of  the  self-exiled. 
A  lamp  with  a  soft  lustre;  a  pretty  little 
stranger  woman  at  the  head  of  a  table,  spread 


THE  SITUATION.  21 

with  clear  glass  and  spotless  linen  and  the 
best  an  inchoate  market  could  afford  ;  chairs 
that  stood  upon  four  legs  without  wobbling ; 
good  health,  youthful  appetites,  not  too  much 
knowledge  of  each  other ;  distant  homes  and 
loves  and  friends  in  the  background,  to 
whom  all  this  strangeness  was  tenderly  re- 
ferred. Outside,  the  shrill  air  of  the  spring 
twilight  at  an  altitude  of  eleven  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  six  inches  of  snow 
on  the  board  sidewalks,  mountains  whiter 
than  the  clouds,  and  black  with  patches 
of  burnt  forest ;  smoke  of  smelters  languidly 
rising ;  voices  and  footsteps,  all  of  strangers ; 
over  all  an  atmosphere  of  insensate  gayety, 
of  fantastic  success. 


II. 

MES.  DANSKEN  stood  in  the  path  behind 
her  kitchen  door  one  morning,  watching 
across  the  street  the  funeral  of  a  well-known 
"  jumper,"  who  had  been  shot  in  a  quarrel 
over  a  piece  of  disputed  land.  The  poor 
cabin  could  not  contain  the  new-made  wid- 
ow's grief.  She  was  crying,  bare-headed,  in 


22  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL.  % 

the  bleak  noon  sunlight,  while  her  husband's 
confreres,  in  Masonic  bibs  and  aprons,  were 
shouldering  the  coffin  into  the  plumed  hearse. 
The  children  of  the  neighborhood  had  gath- 
ered to  the  spectacle,  and  followed  as  it 
moved  down  the  street  with  throbbing  of 
drums,  wailing  of  fifes,  and  buzzing  of  brass. 
The  widow  and  her  brood  had  been  bundled 
into  the  carriage  magnificently  provided  by 
charity,  at  a  cost  that  would  have  fed  them 
for  a  month.  They  sat  in  it  charily,  in  their 
shabby  weeds,  eying  its  soiled  upholstery 
with  an  awe  which  even  the  freshness  of  their 
grief  could  not  blunt. 

Mrs.  Dansken  buried  her  face  in  her  apron 
and  laughed,  hysterically.  Looking  up,  she 
saw  a  young  man  at  the  gate,  studying  the 
house  as  if  to  reassure  himself  of  his  locality. 
He  beamed,  hat  in  hand,  at  the  sight  of  her 
brightly  illumined  figure  in  the  sunny  path ; 
perhaps  with  relief  that  she  had  not,  as  he 
had  at  first  supposed,  been  crying. 

"Is  this  No.  9?"  he  inquired.  "I  seem 
to  have  come  out  on  the  wrong  street." 

"  Yes,  our  front  door  is  on  Harrison  Ave- 
nue ;  but  it  does  n't  matter.  Will  you  come 
in?" 


THE  SITUATION.  23 

"  Is  this  Mrs.  Dansken  ?  I  'm  sure  it  is ! " 
He  smiled  down  at  the  shining  brown  head 
and  white  lawn  apron,  tied  in  a  bow  in  front 
of  a  neat  waist. 

Mrs.  Dansken  laughed.  "  Then  I  need  not 
say  that  it  is,  if  you  are  sure."  They  were 
skirting  the  kitchen  regions  towards  the  front 
door. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  forgive  me  for  insisting 
that  you  're  Mrs.  Dansken,  but  I  'm  so  aw- 
fully anxious  to  know  if  you  will  have  room 
for  us,  —  my  partner  and  me." 

"Yes,  perhaps,  when  I  know  who  you  are. 
You  know  there  are  a  great  many  of  you." 

"  And  only  one  of  you,  unfortunately." 

This  was  the  way  Mrs.  Dansken  liked  to  be 
approached.  She  looked  the  new  applicant 
over  in  the  shade  of  her  doorway.  He  was 
extremely  good-looking,  so  far  as  that  went ; 
but  Mrs.  Dansken  did  not  choose  her  board- 
ers for  their  bright  eyes  or  for  the  number 
of  inches  they  stood  in  their  boots.  She 
let  this  one  produce  his  credentials,  begin- 
ning with  his  name,  Mr.  Francis  Embury, 
No.  174  of  a  respectable  -  sounding  street, 
with  New  York  added  in  pencil,  on  the  card 
he  gave  her.  Of  his  partner,  Hugh  Wil- 


24      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

liams,  she  already  knew  something ;  indeed, 
young  Embury  was  not  altogether  a  stranger 
to  her,  as  she  allowed  him  to  suppose,  while 
she  sat  calmly  considering  his  proposal.  If 
she  understood  her  part  in  the  negotiation, 
it  was  plain  to  her  that  he  was  by  no  means 
unpracticed  in  his.  But  in  this  she  was  mis- 
taken :  Frank  was  simply  one  of  these 
charming  young  fellows  to  whom  the  art  of 
coaxing  comes  by  nature,  but  who  are  found 
to  be  exceedingly  obstinate  when  the  same 
sort  of  pressure  is  applied  to  themselves. 

She  smiled  at  him,  out  of  her  narrow 
shining  eyes,  with  merry  little  creases  at  the 
corners.  He  was  gayly  insistent.  He  pro- 
posed to  present  himself  with  his  partner  at 
dinner  that  same  evening.  They  were  fam- 
ished, he  declared.  They  had  been  living 
upon  husks,  and  had  done  nothing  to  de- 
serve it. 

Mrs.  Dansken  could  only  promise  them  a 
very  small  portion  of  a  fatted  calf,  she  said,  if 
they  were  resolved  upon  coming  that  night ; 
and  then  she  coyly  mentioned  sweet-breads, 
at  which  the  young  fellow  fairly  howled  with 
delight,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  help 
laughing.  They  laughed  together,  like  old 
acquaintances,  and  the  business  was  settled. 


THE  SITUATION.  25 

Mrs.  Dansken  was  in  the  habit  of  shar- 
ing her  news,  if  it  was  good  news,  with  her 
silent  partner  in  the  kitchen,  Ann  Matthews, 
an  old  servant  of  her  mother's  whom  she 
had  imported  at  considerable  expense,  with 
a  far-sighted  eye  to  the  foundations  of  suc- 
cess in  a  camp  without  a  cuisine. 

Ann's  excellent  skill  in  cooking  was  a 
gift  which  had  upheld  its  possessor  in  the 
darkest  hours  of  a  somewhat  morose  dispo- 
sition. In  these  moods  she  could  absorb  flat- 
tery as  a  black  garment  gathers  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  and  Mrs.  Dansken  gave  it  her 
in  the  universal  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  this 
simple  remedy ;  though  Ann,  unlike  the  trav- 
eler in  the  fable,  clung  to  her  cloak  long  af- 
ter she  was  warmed  through  and  through. 
Ann  would  have  been  called  a  "  far-downer  " 
by  her  lively  countrymen  from  Cork ;  but 
she  gloried  in  having  "  come  from  the 
County  Tyrone,  among  the  green  bushes," 
and  if  her  lips  had  ever  been  intimate  with 
the  Blarney  Stone  the  spell,  upon  her  caustic 
tongue,  had  lost  its  power. 

"  Well,  Ann,  what  do  you  think  of  our 
youngest  ?  "  the  mistress  demanded  in  her 
gayest  tone  as  she  stepped  into  the  kitchen. 


26      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  I  saw  you  on  the  lookout  as  we  came  by 
the  window." 

This  was  a  deliberate  tease,  and  no  time 
was  lost  in  taking  up  the  challenge. 

"  Me  on  the  lookout,  is  it  ?  Not  fur  the 
likes  of  him,  thin !  I  seen  the  two  av  yez 
come  laughin'  up  the  walk  an'  the  '  Dead 
March '  playin'  behind  yez.  Sure  it 's  God's 
own  wurrld  fur  all  the  trouble  that  's  in  it, 
an'  there  's  plinty  to  look  at  besides  a  giddy 
b'y  like  him." 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  so  fond  of  funerals  as 
you  are,  Ann.  I  'd  much  rather  look  at  a 
'  giddy  b'y '  who  wants  to  put  forty  dollars 
a  week  into  my  pocket." 

"  Forty  dollars,  is  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  two  of  them  —  Mr.  Embury 
and  Mr.  Williams,  partners." 

"  An'  where  will  it  all  go  to  ?  Into  thim 
prospects,  like  pourin'  water  down  a  rat-hole, 
an'  that  's  the  last  ye  '11  see  av  it.  Ye  'd 
better  put  it  in  the  crack  av  the  flure. 
It  '11  be  safe  there,  anyways."  From  which 
will  be  seen  the  direction  Mrs.  Dansken's 
investments  were  taking,  and  what  encour- 
agement she  found  in  the  bosom  of  her 
family. 


THE  SITUATION.  27 

Before  many  weeks  it  became  necessary 
to  add  a  second  story  to  the  main  part  of  the 
cabin,  and  with  this  Mrs.  Dansken  declared 
she  had  reached  her  limit.  She  had  a  per- 
fect company,  more  would  be  a  mob.  She 
now  began  in  her  own  way,  which  was  not  a 
groping  way,  to  materialize  her  ideal  of  do- 
mestic comfort  and  prettiness.  It  became 
one  of  the  amusements  of  her  guests  to  fol- 
low her  processes.  She  did  not  attempt  too 
much,  and  so  she  never  failed  in  the  dis- 
couraging and  pitiable  manner  of  more  im- 
aginative decorators.  She  had  no  artistic 
principles  to  bother  her,  she  said ;  nor  did 
she  pretend  to  any  superior  light  in  a  con- 
ventional way.  She  flattered  her  admiring 
constituency  by  appealing  to  their  own  later 
standards,  presumably  higher  than  her  own. 
Was  it  thus,  or  so,  at  their  mamma's  table, 
or  in  her  drawing  -  room  ?  —  not  that  one 
could  hope  to  do  more  than  suggest,  but 
one's  suggestions  might  as  well  take  the 
right  direction.  She  was  nothing  but  an 
imitator,  but  she  liked  good  models  when 
she  could  get  them. 

Mrs.  Dansken  had  a  design  in  these  cajol- 
eries, perfectly  creditable  to  more  than  the 


28  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

business  side  of  her  character.  Her  young 
men,  she  was  pleased  to  observe,  were  get- 
ting the  habit  of  rushing  home  after  busi- 
ness hours,  to  be  in  time  for  tea  in  the  much 
discussed  little  parlor,  which  had  become  the 
property  of  all,  since  each  had  contributed, 
by  his  advice  at  least,  to  its  development. 
Many  of  them  would  gladly  have  contri- 
buted, out  of  their  absurd  young  affluence, 
in  more  substantial  ways,  but  the  landlady 
was  resolute  on  the  subject  of  gifts.  She 
accepted  the  help  of  long  arms  and  strong 
backs  when  pictures  and  curtains  were  to  be 
hung,  and  of  vociferous  tongues  on  all  oc- 
casions when  her  own  was  not  the  "  domi- 
nant persistent,"  but  she  preserved  her  inde- 
pendence of  their  pockets,  beyond  the  weekly 
stipend  by  which  she  held  her  own,  with 
something  over  to  put  into  prospect-holes. 

No.  9  was  getting  a  reputation  as  one  of 
the  show  cabins  of  the  camp.  Nothing  was 
expected  of  the  outside  of  a  Leadville  cabin, 
but  there  was  sharp  rivalry  as  to  the  compar- 
ative merits  of  interiors.  The  young  men 
boasted  with  caution,  but  it  was  matter  for 
gossip  that  Mrs.  Fanny  Dansken  was  mak- 
ing her  family  comfortable  in  ways  that  were 


THE  SITUATION.  29 

clever  beyond  those  of  the  ordinary  frontier 
housekeeper.  The  practical  gifts,  after  all, 
are  the  ones  which  give  a  woman  vogue 
among  other  women.  Beauty  or  personal 
charm  may  do  more  with  men,  apparently, 
but  women  know,  and  men  discover,  that 
these  triumphs  are  slight  and  temporal  com- 
pared with  the  secret,  possessed  by  the  few, 
of  an  unobtrusive  mastery  over  the  means 
of  modern  living. 

The  ladies  who  were  the  pioneers  of  so- 
ciety in  Leadville  began  to  recognize  Mrs. 
Dansken's  "  afternoons  "  —  with  the  courage 
of  an  indifference  that  was  a  trifle  insolent 
she  had  announced  herself  "at  home"  on 
Saturdays  —  as  one  of  the  institutions  of 
the  camp ;  the  more  readily,  perhaps,  that 
Mrs.  Dansken's  young  gentlemen,  all  of 
them  who  could  manage  it,  made  a  point 
of  getting  home  early  on  their  landlady's 
"  day,"  not  to  miss  the  exciting  privilege  of 
carrying  about  cups  of  tea  and  plates  of 
biscuits,  which  they  subsequently  emptied 
themselves,  and  chuckling  over  their  per- 
formances afterwards  with  their  hostess,  in 
those  too  brief  moments  by  the  parlor  fire 
between  dusk  and  the  summons  to  dinner. 


30  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

They  swore  to  each  other  that  she  was  the 
best  little  woman  in  the  world  —  the  very 
woman  for  the  place  ;  and  as  they  were  the 
very  men  for  the  place,  there  could  be  no 
question  as  to  mutual  fitness.  They  knew 
by  heart  all  the  playful,  mocking  changes  of 
her  bright,  untender  face.  It  was  not  a  re- 
markable face,  taking  it  feature  by  feature, 
but  it  kept  one  interested.  Mrs.  Dansken 
had  the  sort  of  person,  both  as  to  face  and 
figure,  which  suits  the  dress  of  the  period, 
whatever  the  fashion  of  it  may  be ;  which 
is  not  to  say  she  lacked  individuality,  but 
that  her  individuality  had  an  alertness  and 
a  certain  hardihood  capable  of  withstanding 
casual  effects  of  costume.  She  had  exceed- 
ingly small  hands,  pretty  in  the  way  which 
is  said  to  be  American,  and  she  used  them 
with  charming  facility.  They  were,  indeed, 
prettier  to  watch  than  her  face ;  and  the 
young  men  used  to  tell  her  that  a  second  cup 
of  coffee  at  breakfast  was  desirable,  for 
aesthetic  reasons. 

As  a  matter  of  course  her  name  went 
East,  with  extravagant  praise  of  her  virtues, 
celebrated  in  letters  to  mothers  and  sisters, 
who  discussed  this  remarkable  woman  with 


THE  SITU  A 


a  degree  of  skepticism  not  unnatural  under 
the  circumstances,  and  wondered  if  she  had 
charms  as  well  as  virtues. 

If  Mrs.  Dansken's  experiment  was  a  suc- 
cess, it  was  because,  in  the  language  of  the 
camp,  she  had  put  herself  into  it  for  all  she 
was  worth.  The  mothers  had  no  cause  for 
anxiety  ;  it  was  not  their  precious  sons  she 
wanted,  only  a  little  of  their  sons'  precious 
money.  This  queen  of  landladies  had  no  idea 
of  entertaining  herself  or  her  boys,  as  she 
called  them,  in  a  way  that  would  ultimately 
be  bad  for  business.  As  for  any  folly  more 
serious,  Mrs.  Dansken  was  a  clever  woman, 
thirty-four  years  old  ;  marriage  for  its  own 
sake  had  no  illusions  for  her,  and  she  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  sacrificing  the  re- 
mains of  her  complexion  to  a  pink  bonnet 
as  of  arranging  herself  for  the  rest  of  her 
life  in  trying  conjunction  with  a  husband 
obviously  her  junior.  The  ages  of  her  boys 
were  charming  ages,  but  they  were  not  the 
ages  that  were  becoming  to  her  own. 

But  all  this  does  nothing  like  justice  to  her 
good  sense  and  good  faith.  She  knew  that 
she  was  in  the  land  of  inflated  values,  where 
pippins  were  as  good  as  pineapples  so  long 


32      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

as  the  latter  were  not  obtainable  ;  but  she 
had  no  desire  to  pass  for  anything  other 
than  the  honest,  shrewd  little  pippin  she  was, 
and  a  last  year's  pippin  at  that.  Her  young 
men,  she  saw,  were  of  a  stamp  more  likely 
to  be  endangered  by  the  tragic  delusions  of 
the  place  than  by  its  cheap  temptations  ; 
and  stoutly  she  resolved  that,  if  the  chance 
were  given  her,  she  would  be  as  loyal  to 
them  as  they  had  been  to  her.  In  the  mean 
time  she  catered  for  them  devotedly.  She 
trotted  all  over  the  town  in  search  of  sur- 
prises for  those  brave  appetites.  Every 
marketman  and  purveyor  in  the  place  knew 
her  and  liked  her,  not  only  for  her  pleasant, 
praising  ways,  but  for  her  keenness  in  de- 
tecting a  substitute  for  a  good  bargain,  even 
when  offered  with  the  best  of  excuses.  The 
sweeter  side  of  her  nature  was  coming  out 
in  the  sunshine  of  kind,  admiring  looks,  and 
of  the  chivalrous  appreciation  she  had  won 
—  and  all  in  the  way  of  business.  It  was 
just  the  success  she  had  planned,  only  so 
much  more  gracious.  Her  boys  had  lifted 
her  life  out  of  its  sordidness,  and  lent  a 
touch  of  benignity  to  her  bald  little  scheme. 
When  the  ladies  who  were  working  for  the 


THE  SITUATION.  33 

new  hospital  came  to  her  for  assistance,  she 
told  them  she  was  too  busy  to  work  and  too 
poor  to  pay,  but  she  assured  them  that  she 
was  cooperating  with  them  in  her  own  way, 
by  keeping  men  out  of  the  hospital  and  out 
of  the  places  that  led  to  it.  It  was  fortunate 
for  Mrs.  Danksen,  said  the  ladies  to  each 
other  and  subsequently  to  other  ladies,  that 
she  was  able  to  combine  business  and  charity 
so  conveniently.  Her  little  boast  was  widely 
quoted,  and  came  at  last  to  the  ears  of  her 
boys,  much  to  her  chagrin.  They  did  not 
push  the  joke  too  far,  seeing  that  it  troubled 
her ;  she  was  indeed  far  from  priding  herself 
upon  anything  she  did  for  them.  They  were 
paying  a  proud  price  for  more  than  the  best 
she  could  give.  But  there  was  one  service 
she  openly  threatened  them  with  if  it  came 
in  her  way.  It  was  part  of  her  duty,  she  de- 
clared, in  the  station  to  which  she  was  called, 
to  preserve  them  —  in  the  absence  of  their 
female  relatives  and  of  legitimate  objects  for 
their  affections  —  from  the  Western  mar- 
riage, so  often  fatal  to  Eastern  boys. 

" I  may  say,  always"  she  emphasized. 
"  Eastern  women  may  be  wanted  in  the 
West,  but  Western  women  are  never  wanted 


34  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

in  the  East.  Why  ?  Because  there  are  wo- 
men enough  there  already  —  women  who  are 
acclimated,  body  and  soul.  And  how  does  it 
end?  You  forsake  your  East  for  the  sake 
of  your  wife,  or  your  wife  for  the  sake  of 
your  East !  " 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  good  deal  of  forsak- 
ing, whichever  way  you  put  it,"  Hugh  Wil- 
liams, the  stout  and  calm  bachelor  of  the 
company,  observed  in  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed Mrs.  Dansken's  words. 

"  Behave  yourselves,  my  dear  boys,  and  go 
home  and  marry  your  own  girls,  to  the  hap- 
piness of  all  concerned.  And  I  shall  have 
earned  the  prayers  of  your  anxious  parents." 

"  How  do  you  know  but  that  some  of  us 
may  have  come  out  here  just  on  account  of 
our  own  girls  ?  Are  n't  we  to  have  any  girls, 
East  or  West?  "  asked  Williams. 

"  How  many  of  you,  I  should  like  to  know ! 
Let  the  blighted  ones  hold  up  their  hands." 

An  emulous  brandishing  of  hands  replied 
to  this  demand.  Every  pair  in  the  room 
went  up,  amidst  shouts  of  laughter  —  every 
pair  but  one.  Frank  Embury,  with  a  face 
that  was  scarlet,  was  stooping  and  poking  the 
fire. 


THE  SITUATION.  35 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boy !  "  thought  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken,  seeing  that  it  was  her  favorite  the  ran- 
dom shaft  had  pierced.  "  You  are  the  one  I 
shall  have  to  look  out  for." 


III. 

AT  this  time,  the  spring  of  1880,  there 
were  no  girls  to  speak  of,  and  not  more  than 
a  dozen  married  ladies,  in  the  camp.  Four 
of  these  young  matrons  were  at  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken's  on  one  of  her  Saturdays,  when  the 
young  men  were  at  home,  making  the  most 
of  their  simple  privileges.  One  of  them,  a 
pretty  little  blonde  man  named  Blashfield  (a 
general  favorite,  chiefly  on  account  of  an  art- 
less way  he  had  of  exposing  himself  to  gen- 
eral ridicule,  and  taking  it  angelically  when 
it  came),  was  trying  dance-tunes  on  the 
banjo,  while  the  ladies  —  of  New  York  or 
Chicago  or  St.  Louis,  as  the  case  might  be 
—  experimented  fitfully  with  each  other's 
steps  in  the  round  dances  that  were  then  in 
fashion.  The  young  men  looked  on  rest- 
lessly, protesting  that  this  sort  of  thing 
would  not  do,  and  the  ladies  were  finally 


36      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

separated,  and  divided,  so  far  as  they  would 
go,  among  the  superfluous  sex. 

Blashfield's  performance  was  so  ungrate- 
fully received  that  he  presently  put  down  his 
banjo  and  claimed  a  share  in  the  dancing,  to 
music  furnished  by  his  critics.  One  of  the 
ladies  then  took  off  her  gloves  and  played 
waltzes  on  Mrs.  Dansken's  hired  piano  with 
verve  and  passionate  precision.  The  springs 
of  rapture  were  touched.  The  merry  ma- 
trons, blushing  like  school-girls  in  the  heat  of 
the  room,  were  silently  passed  from  hand  to 
hand,  while  more  and  more  dancing  was  the 
plea. 

The  late  spring  twilight,  prolonged  by 
snow  reflections,  stole  away  and  left  them 
circling  round  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  with 
a  mimic  rout  of  shadows  gyrating  on  the 
walls  above  their  heads.  The  ghost  of  joy 
was  not  yet  laid  when  the  ladies  trooped 
homewards,  with  a  husband  apiece  who  had 
come  to  look  them  up,  and  Ann,  putting  her 
head  in  at  the  dining-room,  inquired,  "Do 
yez  want  any  dinner  the  night  ?  " 

This  was  the  origin  of  a  series  of  dances 
which  called  itself,  with  the  touch  of  laughter 
inseparable  from  everything  the  caaip  did  at 


THE  SITUATION.  37 

this  time,  the  "  Assembly."  Its  meetings 
were  fortnightly,  in  the  dining-room  of  the 
new  hotel ;  and  here,  on  Assembly  nights, 
the  Cymons  and  Crelebs  of  a  crude  genera- 
tion —  in  flannel  shirts,  it  must  be  confessed, 
and  "  wearing  their  own  hair  "  —  claimed 
the  hands  of  the  lively  Jocastas  and  Pam- 
elas, in  dresses  they  could  afford  to  sacri- 
fice to  the  new  pine  floor  of  the  Clarendon. 
The  ladies  were  amused  and  flattered  to 
find  themselves  again  on  the  footing  of  girls 
of  one  season.  It  was  one  of  the  little 
insanities  of  the  place  that  these  modest 
and  hitherto  uncelebrated  dames  should  find 
themselves  temporarily  representing  the  fem- 
inine idea.  It  was  a  pleasing  responsibility 
while  it  lasted,  and  perhaps  it  was  as  well 
that  it  lasted  no  longer ;  for  this  phase  of  a 
new  society,  when  married  women  frankly  do 
duty  for  young  girls,  is  one  of  the  briefest. 

Before  autumn  much  of  the  simplicity  had 
departed.  The  day  of  competition  and  of 
preferences  had  begun.  As  the  ladies  pro- 
gressed in  splendor  they  were  openly  congrat- 
ulated upon  their  costumes  as  so  much  con- 
tributed to  the  glory  of  the  camp,  and  the 
first  dress-coat  made  a  paragraph  in  the  daily 


38      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

paper.  There  were  other  changes,  showing 
how  in  the  newest  society  the  old  experiments 
are  repeated  in  the  sequence  history  has 
made  us  familiar  with. 

The  camp  was  forming  into  crowds.  There 
were  the  iron-mine  crowd,  the  famous  Chry- 
solite crowd,  the  Evening  Star  crowd ;  Chi- 
cago had  its  crowd,  St.  Louis,  and  New 
York  ;  and  the  society  of  the  camp,  made  up 
of  these  coalitions  with  their  respective  fol- 
lowings,  revived  the  period  of  the  oligarchy, 
under  conditions,  it  must  be  owned,  that 
made  the  renaissance  something  of  a  bur- 
lesque. 

This  picturesque  but  belated  tendency 
may  have  been  assisted  by  the  presence  of 
the  aristocratic  element  in  unusual  force. 
There  were  many  young  Southerners,  re- 
cruited from  families  impoverished  by  the 
war,  who  brought  with  them  the  feudal  feel- 
ing and  the  need  for  personal  distinction ; 
there  were  sons  of  Northern  families,  bred 
in  the  same  exclusiveness,  but  with  more 
practical  adaptability.  These  young  gentle- 
men, many  of  them,  were  incidentally  en- 
gaged in  chopping  their  own  wood,  cooking 
their  dinners,  and  mending  their  trousers ; 


THE  SITUATION.  39 

but  they  did  these  things  to  their  own  aston- 
ishment and  the  admiration  of  their  friends, 
not  in  the  least  identifying  themselves  with 
the  part  of  the  laboring-man. 

None  of  the  social  expedients  of  the  fron- 
tier will  ever  have  the  fascination  of  the 
"  crowd."  None  of  them  so  completely  illus- 
trates the  boy  and  girl  element  so  conspicu- 
ous in  the  life  of  the  new  West  —  the  min- 
ing and  engineering  and  military,  not  the 
rural  West.  It  appeals  to  those  fine  roman- 
tic instincts,  loyalty  and  personal  leadership 
in  men  and  faithfulness  and  concentration 
of  feeling  in  women.  Woman,  who,  as  the 
"Pilgrim's  Scrip"  says,  "will  probably  be 
the  last  thing  civilized  by  man,"  is  notori- 
ously happy  in  a  "  crowd,"  and  never  more 
herself  —  for  to  lose  herself  with  a  woman 
is  to  find  herself. 

When  an  Eastern  woman  goes  West,  she 
parts  at  one  wrench  with  family,  clan,  tra- 
ditions, clique,  cult,  and  all  that  has  hith- 
erto enabled  her  to  merge  her  outlines  — 
the  support,  the  explanation,  the  excuse, 
should  she  need  one,  for  her  personality. 
Suddenly  she  finds  herself  "  cut  out,"  in  the 
arid  light  of  a  new  community,  where  there 


40      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

are  no  traditions  and  no  backgrounds.  Her 
angles  are  all  discovered,  but  none  of  her 
affinities.  A  husband  does  not  help  her  to 
be  less  conspicuous ;  he  is  another  figure  cut 
out  beside  her  own,  often  another  vantage 
for  attack.  She  hastens  to  lose  herself  in 
her  husband's  crowd.  She  will  conform  to 
any  restrictions  that  will  secure  her  in  this 
immunity  from  general  observation,  which 
implies  general  criticism.  And  so  restful  is 
the  sense  of  support,  so  emancipating  the 
obscurity,  so  stimulating  the  intimacies  and 
passionate  partisanships  of  the  inner  circle, 
that  it  is  not  wonderful  if  these  privileges 
are  somewhat  jealously  extended,  and  only  to 
those  who  can  be  relied  upon  to  preserve  as 
well  as  to  enjoy  them. 

For  plainly  it  is  not  every  one  who  can  be- 
long to  a  crowd.  It  is  a  matter  of  tempera- 
ment, of  breeding,  of  religion  even,  of  prog- 
ress in  the  lessons  of  humanity.  The  ele- 
ment that  loves  the  chatter  of  the  streets  and 
does  not  mind  being  chattered  about,  the 
honest  Samuel  Pepys's  element,  will  stay  out- 
side ;  so  will  the  element  that  uses  its  friends 
for  ulterior  purposes;  so  will  the  element 
that  yearns  for  popularity  —  the  members  of 


THE  SITUATION.  41 

a  crowd  are  never  popular ;  so  will  most  that 
is  broadest,  kindest,  most  human  and  demo- 
cratic in  our  modern  life.  The  crowd  is  the 
fortress  on  the  hill,  opposed  to  the  noisy, 
sunny,  gossipy  streets  of  the  great  free  city 
on  the  plain.  It  will  exist  yet  for  many  years 
on  the  feudal  frontier. 

A  Western  crowd  comes  easily  together  on 
a  basis  of  common  interest  or  convenience, 
but  some  deeper  sentiment  than  this  is  re- 
quired to  give  it  entity,  to  make  it  a  force 
for  good  or  evil.  It  must  have  a  soul  as  well 
as  a  body.  In  this  respect  Mrs.  Dansken's 
house  was  built  upon  sand.  The  only  prin- 
ciples on  which  it  rested  were  personal  com- 
fort and  the  making  of  money.  All  beyond 
was  boyish  gallantry  and  extravagance,  and 
the  sentiment  any  woman  who  is  not  un- 
natural can  awaken  in  a  generous  and  pure 
young  heart.  So  far  as  moral  support  went, 
Mrs.  Dansken  knew  that  she  had  reason  to 
be  content ;  but  she  had  her  little  troubles, 
of  a  sort  the  most  devoted  constituency  can- 
not keep  from  the  door.  She  had  saved  out 
of  her  experiment  considerable  money,  which 
she  had  promptly  invested  with  a  courage 
worthy  of  better  success.  Several  of  her 


42      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

young  men  had  tried  to  give  her  points ;  but 
she  did  not  see  her  way,  she  said,  out  of  the 
camp  that  year  nor  the  next,  and  the  young 
men  were  ungenerous  enough  to  say  they 
were  very  glad  to  hear  it. 

An  internal  difficulty  had  also  arisen  which 
threatened  the  foundations  of  her  scheme. 
Without  Ann  Matthews  the  business  of  the 
house  could  not  go  on ;  and,  whether  from 
the  effect  of  the  harsh  mountain  climate  at 
that  great  altitude,  or  the  pressure  of  her 
work,  which  was  more  miscellaneous  than  she 
had  been  used  to,  Ann's  strength  was  visibly 
on  the  decline.  Anything  like  sympathy  or 
assistance  from  her  mistress  she  fiercely  re- 
pelled ;  but  by  substituting  her  own  steps  for 
Ann's  whenever  on  one  pretext  or  another 
it  was  possible  to  do  so,  Mrs.  Dansken  con- 
trived to  keep  the  house  going,  and  to  shield 
her  testy  old  servant  from  the  young  men's 
criticisms. 

"  Why  do  you  let  her  bully  you  so,  and 
why  do  you  do  all  her  work  ?  "  they  inquired, 
with  that  air  of  superior  enlightenment  as  to 
methods  which  no  housekeeper  can  be  ex- 
pected to  tolerate. 

"  She  does  n't  bully  me.     Do  I  look  like  a 


THE  SITUATION.  43 

person  to  be  bullied?  She  is  nervous,  poor 
old  thing !  It 's  the  climate." 

"Does  the  climate  never  make  you  ner- 
vous?" 

"Ask  Ann,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken.  Ann 
would  have  said  that  if  there  were  any  nerves 
in  that  house  they  belonged  to  the  mistress. 

Mrs.  Dansken  herself  had  discovered  that 
to  be  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  magnetic  young 
spirits,  whose  bodies  one  has  agreed  to  main- 
tain at  a  persistently  high  level  of  comfort 
in  an  essentially  uncomfortable  place,  is  not 
a  restful  position  for  a  woman  to  hold.  But 
she  was  determined  to  hold  it,  and  to  hide  the 
cost.  She  could  not  hide  the  cost  from  Ann, 
who  was  convinced  that  her  mistress  was  kill- 
ing herself,  and  so  spurred  on  in  the  race  be- 
tween the  two,  which  should  exert  herself  and 
spare  the  other  more  ;  but  a  deliberate  word 
of  affection  rarely  passed  between  them. 
One  Sunday  morning  when  they  were  mak- 
ing beds  together  in  the  extension,  Ann  was 
inveighing  as  usual  against  the  young  men 
—  the  claims  they  made,  and  which  the  mis- 
tress allowed,  upon  her  time  and  strength. 

"  The  more  ye  do  fur  thim  the  more 
ye  may  do !  Is  n't  it  enough  ye  bed  'em 


44      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

an'  boord  'em,  but  ye  must  be  feeclin'  'em 
wid  the  words  out  av  yer  mouth  an'  the 
breath  out  ay  yer  body  ?  Don't  I  hear  }^e, 
talkiii'  the  flesh  off  yer  bones  below  there 
nights?" 

"  You  think  I  need  my  beauty  sleep, 
Ann  ?  " 

"  Indeed  an'  it 's  little  beauty  ye  '11  get 
in  this  place,  nor  anythin'  else,  forbye  the 
money  ye '11  make  wan  day  an'  lose  it  the 
next." 

"  What  we  want  in  this  house  is  some- 
body young,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  decisively. 

Ann  looked  up  from  under  her  brows. 
Her  head  was  bent  and  her  mouth  distended 
with  the  effort  to  hold  a  pillow  under  her 
chin  while  she  parted  the  folds  of  the  case. 

"  In  the  place  av  ould  Ann,  is  it  ? "  she 
presently  asked. 

"  You  know  very  well  that  I  want  nobody 
in  Ann's  place  but  Ann,"  said  the  mistress. 
"  So  what  is  the  use  of  talking  foolishness  ? 
You  are  tired  out,  and  you  say  that  I  am. 
Perhaps  I  am.  Anyhow  I  intend  to  find 
somebody  to  wait  upon  us  both  ;  to  give  us  a 
rest.  There  must  be  girls  in  the  place  by 
this  time." 


THE  SITUATION.  45 

"  There  's  girls  iverywhere,  if  it 's  green 
sticks  ye  want,  or  maybe  rotten.  Ye  '11  get 
no  rest,  I  'se  be  bound,  out  av  anythin'  ye  '11 
pick  up  here." 

"  Well,  there  's  no  harm  in  trying,"  Mrs. 
Dansken  sighed.  "  We  must  have  more 
help  this  winter,  with  the  fires,  and  the  water 
to  carry." 

She  sighed  again  that  evening,  inadver- 
tently, in  the  midst  of  the  circle  lounging 
about  the  parlor  in  various  attitudes  of  re- 
pletion, under  the  depressing  effect  of  the 
Sunday  custom  of  two  meals  a  day,  and  both 
at  the  wrong  time.  She  laughed,  and  plucked 
herself  out  of  her  momentary  abstraction,  as 
the  cause  of  her  sighing  was  demanded. 

"  Oh,  breakfast  too  late  and  dinner  too 
early,  and  nothing  in  the  house  to  give  you 
for  tea!" 

"  Come,  you  were  n't  sighing  about  our 
appetites,"  said  Frank  Embury.  He  looked 
at  Mrs.  Dansken  with  rather  a  tender  expres- 
sion in  his  soft  eyes.  "  What  is  the  matter, 
please  ?  "  he  added,  lowering  his  voice. 

Mrs.  Dansken  raised  her  own,  giving  him 
a  smile  at  the  same  time.  "  We  need  some- 
body young  in  the  house,"  she  repeated. 


46      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  Madam,  are  n't  we  young  enough  for 
you,  on  an  average  ?  "  Williams  demanded. 

"It  is  a  question  of  my  youth,  not  of 
yours.  I  am  young  enough  to  be  your  land- 
lady, perhaps,  but  not  to  be  your  landlady's 
servant." 

"  Ann's  servant,  you  mean." 

"Well,  Ann's  servant,  then.  I  want  to 
hear  a  young  pair  of  feet  —  not  in  boots,  if 
you  please  —  go  slip,  slip,  up  the  stairs  in  the 
morning  before  I  'm  out  of  bed,  not  pad, 
pad,  —  poor  Ann  !  —  and  a  groan  at  the  top. 
I  positively  have  to  fly  to  keep  her  from  do- 
ing things  she  knows  she  has  no  business  to, 
with  her  lame  knee,  and  the  colds  she  gets." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  her  go  on,  and  be  a 
martyr  if  she  wants  to  ?  " 

"  Because  she  would  make  herself  sick,  and 
then  /  should  be  the  martyr,  and  I  don't  en- 
joy it." 

"  Where  is  the  need  of  so  much  work  in  a 
house,  anyhow  ?"  This  unsleeping  question 
was  duly  propounded,  as  it  always  will  be  in 
a  domestic  crisis,  by  the  male  members  of  the 
family.  "  All  this  sweeping,  for  instance ; 
you  only  stir  up  a  lot  of  dust  to  wipe  away 
when  you  've  done." 


THE  SITUATION.  47 

"  And  who  is  it  fills  the  water-pitchers,  by 
the  way?  "  asked  Embury.  "I  swear  I  saw 
the  skirt  of  Mrs.  Dansken's  gown  whipping 
round  the  stairhead  when  I  pulled  in  my 
pitcher  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Dansken  inquired  if  he  were  sure 
that  he  knew  her  gowns  from  Ann's. 

"  We  '11  introduce  the  fag  system,"  said 
Williams,  "  and  begin  with  the  smallest. 
Blasshy,  you  '11  please  to  hop  out  to-morrow 
morning  when  you  hear '  Fag  ! ' : 

"  Fagging  is  obsolete.  We  '11  go  down  in 
a  democratic  body  "  — 

"  In  Blasshy's  body  "  — 

"  You  '11  stay  upstairs,  in  your  beds, 
where  you  belong,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken.  "  I 
don't  propose  to  have  a  procession  of  half- 
dressed  young  men  promenading  the  house 
before  breakfast.  I  do  my  own  promenad- 
ing then,  and  my  crimping-pins  are  not  be- 
coming." 

"  Fill  the  pitchers  overnight ;  nothing  sim- 
pler, I  'm  sure." 

"Extremely  simple,  you  will  find,  when 
the  water  freezes  and  breaks  my  two-dollar- 
and-a-half  stone-china  pitcher." 

"  Why  do  you  have  pitchers  ?    Have  pails. 


48  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

We  had  pails,"  said  Williams,  out  of  the 
experience  of  the  past. 

"  Pails  are  squalid,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken. 

"  Frank,  were  our  pails  squalid  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Dansken,  "  who  the  misguided  creatures  were 
that  mobbed  Chinamen  out  of  this  camp? 
Were  they  men  with  sisters  dear ;  were  they 
men  with  mothers  and  wives  ?  " 

"  Men  with  wives  they  call  '  the  old  wo- 
man.' Wives  can  work  cheaper  than  China- 
men, don't  you  know,  and  they  don't  inter- 
fere with  the  price  of  men's  labor." 

"  And  the  rest  of  you  let  them  have  it  all 
their  own  way,  as  usual." 

"  Some  of  us  were  n't  here  ;  and  we  did  n't 
come  out  here  to  be  mayors  and  city  council- 
men.  And  we  claim  that  it  is  n't  a  mistake. 
The  Chinese  element "  — 

"  Oh,  I  've  heard  all  about  the  Chinese  ele- 
ment since  before  any  of  you  were  born !  It  is 
a  mistake  from  my  little  point  of  view ;  any- 
how, mistake  or  not,  I  want  you  all  to  keep 
your  eyes  open  and  think  of  the  water-pails 
—  pitchers,  I  mean  —  if  you  see  anybody  of 
the  female  persuasion,  who  looks  young  and 
strong  and  not  too  affluent." 


THE  SITUATION.  49 


IV. 


IT  was  Mrs.  Dansken  herself  who  first  met 
with  the  person  answering  to  these  specifica- 
tions. She  was  one  day  at  Daniel  &  Fish- 
er's, the  great  dry-goods  store  of  the  camp, 
looking  at  walking-jackets.  The  salesman 
had  laid  one  across  the  padded  shoulders  of 
a  female  torso,  clad  in  pink  cambric.  "  It 's 
an  elegant  shape,"  he  said,  referring  to  the 
jacket  —  "  after  an  English  model.  Won't 
you  try  it  on  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dansken  shook  her  head  disparag- 
ingly, but  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  jacket, 
while  she  meditated  whether,  after  all,  it  was 
worth  while  buying  an  intermediate  garment 
so  close  upon  winter. 

The  clerk,  misunderstanding  her  hesita- 
tion, opened  the  door  of  a  back  room,  where 
carpets  were  being  made  and  sewing-ma- 
chines were  clashing  through  breadths  of 
coarse  sheeting,  scattering  motes  through  the 
long  beams  of  light  that  slanted  from  the 
high,  uncurtained  windows. 

"  Miss  Robinson,"  he  called,  "  will  you 
step  this  way  a  moment  ?  " 


50      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  Don't  give  yourself  any  more  trouble," 
said  Mrs.  Dansken;  "I  shall  not  take  the 
jacket."  But  she  felt  compelled  to  wait  until 
Miss  Robinson  made  her  appearance,  brush- 
ing threads  from  the  front  of  her  shabby 
black  jersey. 

The  clerk  held  out  the  jacket;  the  girl 
slipped  her  arms  into  the  sleeves  without  a 
word,  and  stood  beside  the  absurd  dummy, 
filling  out  with  a  faultless  form,  the  nicely- 
adjusted  curves  of  the  jacket. 

"  You  see,  it  is  perfect,"  said  the  clerk,  as 
Miss  Robinson  slowly  rotated  on  the  heels  of 
her  boots. 

"  I  see  that  the  young  lady's  figure  is  per- 
fect," said  Mrs.  Dansken.  The  eyes  of  the 
two  women  coldly  met. 

"  Not  more  so  than  yours,  I  am  sure,"  said 
the  clerk,  with  a  glance  at  Miss  Robinson. 

Mrs.  Dansken  was  aware  that  she  herself 
was  responsible  for  this  affability.  It  was 
one  of  the  days  when  she  found  life  intensely 
objectionable  in  all  its  features;  and  now 
she  included  the  girl  and  the  jacket  and  the 
man  who  was  trying  to  sell  it. 

"  It  would  not  suit  me  at  all.  Thank 
you,"  she  added,  with  a  curt  little  bow  to 


THE  SITUATION.  51 

Miss  Robinson.  The  clerk  smiled  patiently 
as  he  refolded  the  jacket.  He  amused  him- 
self for  some  time  afterwards,  standing  in  the 
door  of  the  workroom,  staring  at  Miss  Rob- 
inson, who  was  rushing  a  long  seam  through 
the  jaws  of  her  machine.  He  made  a  num- 
ber of  little  jokes,  at  which  the  other  girls 
looked  up  and  laughed,  but  the  handsome 
one  kept  her  head  down,  and  blushed  with 
anger. 

Mrs.  Dansken  had  put  an  advertisement 
in  the  paper,  carefully  worded  not  to  attract 
the  wrong  class  of  applicants.  Two  or  three 
showy  young  women  called,  —  chiefly  out  of 
curiosity,  it  would  seem.  She  was  becoming 
discouraged  when,  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
fourth  day,  she  was  surprised  by  a  visit,  evi- 
dently in  good  faith,  from  Miss  Robinson. 
The  girl  looked  very  nice  in  her  close,  plain 
turban  and  black  clothes.  Mrs.  Dansken 
noticed  there  was  a  poor  suggestion  of  mourn- 
ing in  her  dress.  The  short  afternoon  was 
falling  dark,  and  she  had  walked  fast,  as  her 
pure,  deep  color  showed.  She  glanced  about 
her,  rather  wistfully,  at  the  pretty  parlor 
in  the  firelight :  Mrs.  Dansken  liked  her  the 
better  for  seeming  not  so  much  at  her  ease 


52      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

as  she  had  with  the  English-modeled  jacket 
on. 

But  the  girl  was  tremendously  handsome. 
Mrs.  Dansken  told  her  frankly  she  should 
expect  her  to  give  some  account  of  herself, 
since,  as  she  said,  she  had  never  lived  out 
before,  and  could  give  no  references.  This 
Miss  Robinson  seemed  to  have  expected. 
The  two  women  had  a  long  talk  together  in 
Mrs.  Dansken's  bedroom,  where  as  the  din- 
ner hour  approached  they  took  refuge  to 
escape  interruption. 

During  dinner  the  mistress  was  preoccu- 
pied with  the  question,  Will  she  do  ?  It  was 
her  way  to  make  the  most  of  small  domestic 
incidents  for  the  amusement  of  the  family. 
Everything  was  grist  that  came  to  her  mill. 
It  would  not  have  occurred  to  her  to  have 
disposed  of  Miss  Robinson,  even  had  her 
case  been  less  interesting,  without  first  tak- 
ing lively  counsel  upon  it  in  the  fireside  con- 
clave. She  informed  her  household  that  she 
had  found  the  "  somebody  young,"  and  ex- 
plained, upon  being  congratulated,  that  it 
must  depend  upon  them  whether  she  should 
venture  upon  her. 

"  She  is  n't  a  servant ;  she  is  just  one  of 


THE  SITUATION.  63 

the  chances  of  the  place ;  and  she  is  the 
prettiest  girl  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on,  I 
think." 

"  Oh,  think  again,  Mrs.  Dansken,"  she 
was  advised. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  pretty  she  is,  un- 
less you  have  seen  her.  Have  you  seen 
her  ?  "  There  were  conscious  faces  in  the 
group. 

Mrs.  Dans-ken  reddened.  "  Well,  if  you 
know  my  young  lady,  you  must  know  better 
than  I  can  if  she  is  possible." 

"  But  who  is  the  young  lady,  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken?" 

"  Don't  be  evasive." 

"  Is  she  the  girl  with  copper-colored  hair 
who  runs  the  machine  at  Daniel  &  Fisher's  ?  " 
Hugh  Williams  asked,  composedly. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Dansken,  vaguely  relieved  by  his  manner. 
"Her  hair  is  rather  of  the  metallic  order. 
What  do  you  know  about  her  ?  " 

"  She  made  me  some  sample-bags  once. 
She  sewed  'em  up  good  and  strong,  and  I 
was  pleased  with  the  way  she  snubbed  a 
young  man  who  was  giving  her  a  good  deal 
of  his  advice." 


54  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  A  talent  for  snubbing  will  not  improve 
her  for  iny  use,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken.  She 
perceived  from  words  that  followed  that 
there  had  been  some  harmless  joking  about 
the  girl  at  Williams's  expense ;  the  others 
had  perhaps  coveted  a  share  in  it.  She  was 
"  out  of  it "  herself,  and  it  did  not  please 
her  to  be  "  out "  of  anything  that  interested 
her  crowd.  "  It  is  really  very  funny  that  I 
should  set  up  to  introduce  you  -to  my  discov- 
ery. It  seems  she  is  your  discovery." 

"  Not  one  of  them  ever  spoke  a  word  to 
her,  Mrs.  Dansken,"  said  Blashfield,  in  his 
good-natured,  literal  way,  "  except  Williams 
about  the  bags.  She  is  a  very  nice  young 
lady.  I  know  she  will  never  look  at  a  fel- 
low on  the  street." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  Blashfield's  modest 
confession. 

"  Oh,  this  will  never  do,"  said  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken. "She  is  n't  a  young  lady.  You 
don't  expect  to  treat  her  like  one,  do  you, 
when  she  comes  here  to  wait  upon  Ann? 
How  will  you  treat  her,  I  should  like  to 
know?" 

"  Any  way  you  like,"  said  Williams,  who 
was  always  obliging. 


THE  SITUATION.  55 

"  No,  it  's  no  use.  You  Ve  begun  joking 
about  her  "  — 

"•  We  can  leave  off,  I  suppose." 

"•  It  ys  too  bad  —  and  I  want  her  so  much ! 
I  can  see  by  the  creatures  that  came  before 
her  what  my  chances  are  if  I  don't  take  this 
one." 

"  Why  don't  you  take  her  ?  I  can't  see 
for  my  life  what  the  matter  is." 

"The  matter  is,  excess  of  participation. 
You  are  on  the  qui  vive,  every  one  of  you." 

"  Because  you  won't  tell  us  anything 
about  her.  You  excite  our  curiosity  and 
leave  us  a  prey  to  it.  Has  n't  she  a  story  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  has  a  story  —  quite  a  pathetic 
one.  I  don't  care  for  their  stories  as  a  gen- 
eral thing  "  — 

"  Whose  stories,  Mrs.  Dansken  ?  "  Frank 
interrupted,  rather  impertinently,  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken thought.  She  answered  with  asperity : 

"  Their  stories." 

"  I  thought  she  was  n't  one  of  '  them/" 

"  She  will  have  to  be  if  she  comes  here. 
She  does  n't  come  as  a  protegee  of  mine,  or 
a  young  lady  in  distressed  circumstances." 

"  But  what  is  she  now  ?  What  is  her 
present  status,  besides  running  a  machine  at 
Daniel  &  Fisher's  ?  " 


56      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  If  you  '11  listen  you  will  find  out  — 
that  is,  if  her  story  is  true.  Her  name,  to 
begin  with,  is  Milly  Robinson.  She  is  a 
Canadian  —  English,  not  French.  That  ac- 
counts for  her  complexion,  I  suppose,  and 
that  indestructible  look  she  has.  She  had 
a  brother  out  here  mining.  He  wrote  to  her 
that  he  was  doing  well  and  sent  her  money 
to  come  on  with.  She  arrived  last  April, 
with  about  five  dollars  in  her  pocket,  and 
those  red  cheeks,  which  she  could  n't  put  in 
her  pocket.  She  seems  to  have  expected  her 
brother  would  be  the  first  person  to  meet 
her  as  she  stepped  out  of  the  stage,  and  that 
his  mine  would  be  across  the  street.  The 
mine  turned  out  to  be  a  prospect-hole,  fifty 
miles  away,  and  nobody  knew  anything 
about  the  brother.  She  was  completely  up- 
set by  this  turn  of  affairs,  after  her  journey 
and  all.  She  was  sick  nearly  a  month  at 
the  Sisters'  Hospital  (I  wonder  if  she  is  a 
Catholic).  The  Sisters  were  very  good  to 
her.  I  believe  they  took  her  to  their  house, 
and  they  wrote  to  the  brother's  address. 
His  partner  answered,  after  a  while.  The 
brother  was  dead,  and  the  partner  seems  to 
have  got  all  the  money.  His  story  was  that 


THE  SITUATION.  57 

the  brother  sold  out  his  share  and  4  blew  it 
all  in  '  in  about  a  week  down  at  the  Basin, 
and  then  started  for  the  Gunnison  early  in 
the  spring  while  the  snows  were  deep.  He 
started  in  a  condition  to  miss  almost  any 
thing  he  aimed  for,  and  so  he  missed  the 
trail,  and  dropped  off,  and  his  horse  fell  on 
him  "  — 

"  Lively  narrative  style,  Mrs.  Dansken 
has,"  Hugh  Williams  observed. 

Mrs.  Dansken  made  a  little  face  at  him 
and  continued  :  "  After  she  left  the  Sisters 
she  went  to  Daniel  &  Fisher's ;  but  she  says 
she  cannot  stand  the  machine  work.  I  told 
her  if  she  was  out  of  health  this  would  not 
be  the  place  for  her,  but  she  said  housework 
was  just  the  change  she  needed,  which  is 
very  true ;  but  I  doubt  if  she  is  leaving  the 
store  on  account  of  her  health.  She  seems 
to  have  a  certain  amount  of  sense.  She  is 
quite  willing  to  take  the  place  on  my  terms, 
hard  work  and  good  pay,  and  no  question 
of  what  she  has  been  used  to.  I  told  her 
she  'd  have  to  sleep  with  Ann  and  take  her 
meals  in  the  kitchen.  She  will  be  just  like 
the  little  Irish  girl  in  a  cap  and  apron,  who 
sweeps  down  your  mother's  stairs.  What  I 


58      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

want  to  know  is,  can  you  treat  her  the  same  ? 
Are  you  going  to  make  a  heroine  of  her  ?  " 

"  We  will  if  you  insist  upon  it." 

"  I  'm  perfectly  serious.  It  's  a  situation, 
I  can  tell  you !  " 

"  A  very  good  one,  I  hope,  for  Miss  Bob- 
inson." 

"  You  may  laugh,  but  it  's  not  so  simple." 

"  I  should  think  it  might  be  as  simple  for 
us  as  for  her.  Do  you  really  want  the  girl, 
Mrs.  Dansken?" 

"  I  really  do,  Mr.  Williams ;  or  rather,  to 
be  honest,  I  don't  want  her,  but  I  need  her." 

"You  wish  to  engage  the  services  of  a 
young  person  and  leave  the  young  person 
out  of  the  transaction  ?  " 

"  Precisely.  It  does  n't  sound  very  amia- 
ble, does  it?" 

"It  sounds  a  little  difficult;  but  if  she 
agrees,  and  if  it  is  on  her  own  account "  — 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't.  It 's  on  my  account  —  and 
on  yours." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  us  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  I  am  letting  the  wolf 
into  the  fold.  Here  is  a  girl,  beautiful,  un- 
protected, as  they  always  are,  going  about 
the  house  as  if  she  were  struck  dumb  ;  no- 


THE  SITUATION.  59 

body  knows  what  she  is,  or  what  she  is  think- 
ing about.  She  is  a  mystery,  while  you  are 
all  in  evidence.  She  serves  and  you  accept 
her  services.  Don't  you  see  what  a  situa- 
tion it  is  ?  Pretty  girl-help  in  a  land  where 
there  are  no  girls." 

"  Mrs.  Dansken,  you  are  a  woman  of  im- 
agination." 

"  Not  at  all.  However,  I  believe  I  have 
impressed  myself,  if  I  have  n't  you.  I  shall 
not  dare  to  have  her  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  must !  For  the  sake  of  the  sit- 
uation." 

"  Never  !  Unless  you  will  agree  to  take  a 
solemn  oath  —  one  that  will  hold  water  —  a 
regular  iron-clad  "  — 

"  Let  us  have  it.  We  will  take  it  as  one 
man." 

"  I  shall  not  give  it  to  you  that  way.  You 
are  expected  to  take  it  solely  and  separately, 
on  your  individual  and  sacred  honors.  I 
have  my  conditions  all  ready  for  you.  I  in- 
tend to  be  explicit.  First,  you  are  not  to 
call  Milly  '  Miss  Robinson.'  You  are  not 
to  bandy  her  name  about  with  all  manner 
of  jokes  and  teasing  of  one  another  about 
her.  You  are  not  to  talk  to  her  except  in 


60      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

the  way  of  her  work ;  not  to  be  trying  to 
spare  her,  or  furtively  doing  her  work  for 
her,  or  wondering  if  she  is  happy,  or  how 
she  stands  it,  or  concerning  yourselves  about 
her  in  any  way,  shape,  or  manner.  Is  that 
enough  ?  "  laughed  Mrs.  Dansken. 

"  It  is  enough  to  make  me  feel  that  I  shall 
probably  elope  with  Miss  Eobinson  —  I 
mean  Milly  —  before  she  has  been  in  the 
house  a  week,"  said  Hugh  Williams. 

Lightness  of  touch  was  not  one  of  Mrs. 
Dansken's  social  qualities.  When  she  was 
gay  she  was  aggressively  gay,  and  when  she 
was  morbid  she  called  the  household  to  wit- 
ness. But  even  in  the  enthusiasm  of  her 
bargain  —  she  had  a  pathetic  faith  in  bar- 
gains —  she  perceived  that  something  had 
gone  wrong. 

Hugh  Williams  was  fond  of  this  little 
business  woman,  and  thought  it  a  pity  for 
her,  still  more  for  her  boys,  that  she  should 
have  given  such  a  blow  to  her  influence  in 
the  house.  He  tried  to  open  for  her  a  way 
of  retreat  while  yet  the  lapse  of  taste  might 
pass  for  a  joke.  But  Mrs.  Dansken  re- 
fused his  assistance.  She  had  meant  to  be 
unselfish  towards  her  household,  and  per- 


THE  S1TUA 


haps  she  was,  so  far  as  her  thought  went ; 
she  felt  that  injustice  had  been  done  both  to 
her  judgment  and  to  her  motives,  and  she 
permitted  herself  to  sulk  a  little  over  her 
mistake.  She  insisted  that  she  was  perfectly 
serious  about  the  promise  she  intended  to 
exact  from  each  one  of  the  young  men  be- 
fore the  anomalous  Milly  should  come  into 
the  house.  The  pledge  was  giddily  and  de- 
risively taken  by  all  except  Williams,  who 
said  it  meant  something  or  nothing,  and  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  either  way. 
When  he  parted  with  Mrs.  Dansken  for  the 
night,  having  outsat  the  others  an  hour  or 
more  by  the  fire,  he  was  impelled  to  venture 
upon  these  words :  — 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Dansken,  the  charm  of  this 
house  has  been  that  we  are  all  solid.  There 
has  n't  been  a  leak  in  our  mutual  confidence. 
We  are  solid  for  you,  solid  for  one  another, 
solid  for  old  Ann.  Do  you  suppose  one  of 
us  would  give  the  old  girl  away,  —  her  cook- 
ing, supposing  it  was  n't  perfect,  as  it  always 
is,  —  or  permit  an  outsider  to  intimate  that 
she  had  n't  the  temper  of  an  angel  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dansken  laughed  nervously.  "  And 
now  you  want  to  know  if  the  future  Milly 


62  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

is  going  to  be  included  in  the  general 
solidity?" 

"Yes." 

"That  depends.  She  may  be  solid  al- 
ready, in  some  other  direction." 

"  Her  story  does  n't  sound  like  it." 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  we  have  had 
enough  of  Milly  Robinson  for  one  evening  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  have  had  more  than  was  nec- 
essary. I  am  sorry  you  are  going  to  have 
her." 

"  I  must  have  her.  It 's  impossible  to 
keep  on  in  this  way,  and  there  's  no  genuine 
help  in  the  camp  —  thanks  to  your  anti- 
Chinese  patriots." 

"  Can't  you  import  somebody  who  would  n't 
be  so  —  conspicuous  ?  " 

"  She  will  not  be  conspicuous,  if  none  of 
you  make  her  so." 

"  But  you  have  already  made  her  so." 

"  I  had  my  reasons.  She  is  my  girl,  Mr. 
Williams.  If  you  will  mind  your  promises 
and  let  her  alone,  I  can  manage  her." 

"  Will  she  be  your  girl  ?  Are  you  going 
to  make  her  so,  and  keep  her  so,  as  you  do 
Ann?  You  know  these  boys  —  they  are 
bound  to  see  fair  play," 


.       THE  SITUATION.  63 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  Do 
you  think  I  'm  going  to  trample  on  the  girl  ? 
I  intend  to  treat  her  as  other  people  treat 
their  girls." 

"  How  do  people  treat  their  girls  in  a  place 
like  this,  where,  as  you  say  yourself,  there 
are  no  girls  ?  We  both  see  the  situation,  but 
you  see  it  only  as  it  affects  us.  Consider  one 
moment :  would  n't  it  be  safer  —  for  us  —  if 
you  should  look  at  it  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  young  woman  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  —  have  her 
in  the  parlor  evenings  to  entertain  the  com- 
pany ?  I  think  you  are  insane  on  the  subject 
of  Milly  Robinson.  However,  it 's  not  for 
you  that  I  concern  myself." 


v. 

THE  first  evening  of  Milly  Robinson's  or- 
deal, when  she  appeared,  blushing  high  above 
the  soup-tureen,  Mrs.  Dansken  thought  the 
unconsciousness  of  her  boarders  somewhat 
overdone.  It  was  not  likely,  however,  that 
the  girl  would  perceive  it.  Her  excessive 
color  was  the  only  sign  of  embarrassment 


64      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

she  showed.  She  had  a  very  good  manner. 
Her  long,  silent  step  and  precision  of  move- 
ment were  restful,  and  showed  that  she  was 
not  going  to  be  overcome  by  her  new  position. 
After  all,  was  she  so  alarmingly  pretty? 
Crimson  cheeks  and  copper-colored  hair, 
even  with  streaks  of  gold  in  it,  did  not  go 
particularly  well  together.  Large  hands  im- 
plied large  feet.  On  the  whole,  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken  was  rather  ashamed  of  her  oaths  and 
conjurations.  She  had  had  no  reason,  how- 
ever, to  suppose  that  the  young  men  were 
taking  their  vows  much  to  heart.  They  were 
strolling  about  the  parlor  after  dinner,  light- 
ing their  cigars,  as  they  were-  privileged  to 
do ;  Embury  was  stooping  to  poke  the  fire, 
laughing,  with  his  face  to  the  room,  when 
Mrs.  Dansken  saw  his  expression  change. 

Milly  had  put  aside  the  portiere,  and 
stood,  with  the  coffee-tray  on  her  hand,  look- 
ing about  her  for  a  table.  There  was  some- 
thing admirable  in  her  controlled  hesitation, 
in  the  presence  of  a  roomful  of  strangers  who 
had  all  turned  to  look  at  her,  unprepared  for 
her  appearance  in  place  of  the  familiar  figure 
of  old  Ann.  Her  eyes  sought  those  of  her  mis- 
tress, who  silently  directed  her  towards  a  low 


THE  SITUATION.  65 

table,  where  she  placed  the  tray.  She  then 
retreated,  getting  herself  very  nicely  out  of 
the  room  with  one  more  look  at  her  mistress, 
as  if  to  ask  if  all  were  right. 

The  parlor  lamps  had  not  been  lighted. 
The  fire-light  reddened  her  figure  as  she 
stood  a  moment,  facing  the  room,  in  her 
black  dress  and  wide,  white  apron,  against 
the  dull  blues  and  greens  and  orange  of  the 
curtain.  Amber  lights  floated  in  her  full 
eyes  under  the  soft  shadow  arched  above 
them  ;  all  the  color  in  the  room,  revealed  in 
the  dusky  fire-glow,  seemed  to  focus  in  her 
hair. 

The  latest  arrival  among  Mrs.  Dansken's 
guests  was  a  young  man,  unaccounted  for  ex- 
cept by  the  name  of  Strode.  Williams  had 
not  been  thinking  of  Mr.  Strode  when  he  de- 
scribed the  house  as  solid.  Strode  was  tacitly 
held  as  an  outsider,  partly  because  he  be- 
longed distinctly  to  one  of  the  crowds  in  the 
camp  with  which  Mrs.  Dansken's  crowd  had 
no  affiliation. 

As  the  curtain  fell  behind  Milly  this  young 
man  showed  his  teeth  in  a  smile  of  appreci- 
ation, and  noiselessly  clapped  his  applause. 
Not  another  smile  was  to  be  seen  in  the 


66  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

room.  Mrs.  Dansken  preceived  this  as  she 
did  many  things,  sometimes  when  it  was  too 
late. 

"  They  are  solid  for  Milly,"  she  reflected, 
and  she  resented  this  championship  of  a 
stranger,  on  the  part  of  her  crowd,  before 
the  crowd's  mistress  had  signified  her  con- 
sent. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  more  per- 
fect?" she  exclaimed.  "The  room  was  all 
cluttered  up  with  you,  every  one  of  you  star- 
ing at  her,  and  she  did  n't  see  a  single  soul. 
And  did  you  see  her  look  at  me  ?  "  She  ex- 
patiated upon  the  girl's  manner,  which  she 
explained  was  that  of  a  perfect  servant, 
provoking  an  argument  as  to  whether  the 
qualities  which  go  to  make  this  vaunted 
manner  in  the  servant  are  not  much  the  same 
as  those  which  distinguish  the  perfect  mis- 
tress, since  to  each  belong  self-control,  tact, 
and  carefulness  for  the  wants  of  others,  com- 
bined with  an  absence  of  fussiness.  Mrs. 
Dansken  was  quite  sure  this  was  a  subject 
heretofore  of  little  interest  to  her  young 
men  ;  and  the  side  she  took  in  the  discussion 
did  not  gain  in  popularity  by  the  fact  that 
Strode  was  her  only  ally. 


THE  SITUATION.  67 

Embury  was  at  the  piano,  trying  the 
accompaniment  to  a  tune  he  was  whistling, 
when  Milly  came  back  for  the  coffee-tray. 
"  Go  on !  "  Mrs.  Dansken  was  obliged  to 
whisper.  The  young  man  did  not  look  par- 
ticularly grateful  for  the  hint. 

"  These  are  the  preliminaries ;  we  shall 
get  used  to  our  minion  after  a  while,"  she 
said,  as  Milly  left  the  room. 

"  How  easily  ladies  call  names !  "  Embury 
murmured,  smiling. 

"  I  suppose  because  when  we  were  little 
girls  we  did  n't  get  kicked  for  it,  as  little 
boys  do,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  with  her  usual 
frankness. 

When  the  young  men  went  to  their  rooms 
that  night,  each  found  his  candle  lighted,  the 
fire  intelligently  laid,  window-shades  drawn 
down,  pillow-shams  —  one  of  the  hostess's 
troublesome  little  household  fopperies  — 
neatly  folded  out  of  the  way.  Each  occu- 
pant surveyed  his  arrangements  with  com- 
placency, if  with  some  amusement,  at  this 
latest  step  in  the  direction  of  their  landlady's 
ideal  for  which  the  new  maid  must  be  re- 
sponsible. Each  man  emptied  his  precious 
water-jug  and  set  it  outside  of  his  door. 


68      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

Smiles  were  exchanged  across  the  passage. 

"  I  shall  leave  my  slippers  in  the  wood- 
box  to-morrow  morning,  just  to  see  what  be- 
comes of  'em,"  said  Blashfield  to  his  next- 
door  neighbor. 

"  Old  Ann  would  heave  'em  on  the  dust- 
heap." 

"  But  Milly  won't,  you  bet !  " 

"  Blasshy,  we  '11  report  you,"  said  another 
voice. 

"What  for?" 

"  Taking  the  name  of  Milly  in  vain." 

"  Look  here,  boys ;  I  shall  have  to  tie  a 
knot  in  my  watch-chain  if  I  've  got  to  re- 
member to  "  — 

" '  I  have  struggled  to  forget,'  "  the  voice 
sang  out,  " 4  but  the  struggle  was  in  vain ! ' ' 

The  young  men  came  down  to  breakfast 
next  morning,  each,  with  the  exception  of 
Williams,  wearing  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon  in 
his  button-hole.  Somebody,  it  was  evident 
from  the  raveled  edges,  had  sacrified  a  neck- 
tie. Mrs.  Dansken  dared  not  ask  the  signi- 
ficance of  this  decoration  ;  but  when  Milly 
was  gone  it  transpired  that  they  were  Mrs. 
Dansken's  good  little  boys,  and  had  taken  an 
oath  which  the  blue  ribbon  would  doubtless 


THE  SITUATION.  69 

help  to  remind  them  of,  since  it  was  such  a 
very  slippery  oath  —  Blashfield  having  al- 
ready foresworn  himself  the  very  first  night. 
Mrs.  Dansken  confiscated  the  ribbons  be- 
fore the  young  men  left  the  house,  and  made 
them  into  a  breast-knot  which  she  wore  in 
her  dress  at  dinner,  to  the  intense  delight  of 
the  boys,  who  forgave  her  the  oath  for  the 
sake  of  the  fun  they  intended  to  get  out 
of  it. 

Ann,  as  a  matter  of  course,  was  bitterly 
jealous ;  the  more  so  that  she  could  find  no 
reasonable  ground  for  objecting  to  the  new 
favorite.  She  called  her  "The  Duchess," 
and  scouted  the  idea  that  she  had  never 
lived  out  before. 

"  Look  at  her  hands !  "  said  Ann. 

"  Well,  look  at  mine !  Look  at  every- 
body's hands  in  this  place,  with  this  water 
—  and,  suppose  she  has  lived  out,  what  dif- 
ference does  that  make  ?  " 

A  very  great  difference  it  made  to  Ann, 
whose  experienced  services  were  thrown 
quite  in  the  shade  by  those  of  the  alleged 
amateur.  Her  undisputed  honors  as  cook 
failed  to  console  her  for  the  suspicion  that, 


70      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

as  a  waitress,  she  had  not  been  considered  a 
success. 

Mrs.  Dansken  was  relieved  to  find  that 
Milly  took  little  notice  of  Ann's  hostility. 
There  was  a  cool  self-sufficiency  about  the 
girl,  or  an  apathy,  which  gave  her  an  atti- 
tude of  singular  independence  in  the  midst 
of  the  life  of  the  house,  from  which  on  all 
sides  she  was  excluded.  Her  fellow-servant 
had  not  made  common  cause  with  her ;  her 
mistress,  she  had  understood  from  the  begin- 
ning, was  to  be  merely  the  other  party  to  a 
bargain,  by  which,  as  Hugh  Williams  had 
put  it,  the  services  of  a  young  woman  were 
to  be  secured  and  the  young  woman  left  out 
of  the  question.  Mrs.  Dansken  admired 
Milly's  philosophy.  "  I  should  behave  just 
so  in  her  place,"  she  assured  herself ;  but 
she  found  herself  thinking  about  the  girl 
much  more  than  she  had  intended,  more  in- 
deed than  was  restful.  Practically  Milly 
had  been  left  out,  but  she  was  there  all  the 
same.  Her  mistress  fancied  there  was  some- 
thing uncanny  about  the  girl,  some  hint  of 
experience  beyond  her  years,  which  sustained 
her  in  the  blank  isolation  of  her  life.  For 
she  had  no  outside  support ;  her  connection 


THE  SITUATION.  71 

with  the  camp  had  ceased,  apparently,  from 
the  day  she  became  one  of  the  family  at  No. 
9.  But  then  Mrs.  Dansken  bethought  her- 
self how  easily  an  older  woman  can  make 
mistakes  about  a  young  girl ;  how  apt  she  is 
to  exaggerate  meanings  or  the  absence  of 
meanings,  to  think  her  stolid  or  secret  when 
she  is  merely  shy. 

Nothing,  meanwhile,  could  have  been  less 
sinister  than  the  aspect  of  the  household 
sphinx.  She  bloomed  like  a  winter  sunrise. 
The  work  which  two  women  had  found  op- 
pressive, divided  among  three  went  smoothly 
on,  and  Milly's  share  seemed  no  more  than 
the  exercise  her  vigorous  youth  required. 
She  went  about  the  house,  with  her  look  of 
intense  life,  seen  of  all  but  looking  at  no  one, 
hearing  all  the  household  talk  but  never 
speaking,  ministering  to  comforts  in  which 
she  had  no  share.  It  is  appalling  to  think 
how  starved  her  importunate  young  egoism 
must  have  been ;  how  few  words  were  said  to 
this  young  girl,  during  her  first  months  of 
service,  which  had  any  personal  value  or 
reference  to  herself ;  how  many  were  lightly 
tossed  over  her  head,  between  the  gay,  privi- 
leged young  men  and  the  mistress,  who  was 
the  providence  of  the  house. 


72  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL, 

Did  all  this  difference  lie  in  the  fact  that 
one  was  employed  and  the  others  were  em- 
ployers ? 

The  oath  was  kept  with  ironical  ostenta- 
tion. It  was  Mrs.  Dansken  who  could  never 
let  the  name  of  Milly  rest.  She  eulogized 
the  girl  continually,  but  always  in  her  menial 
capacity.  Perhaps  she  insisted  too  much, 
for  one  evening  when  Milly's  name  was  in- 
troduced, as  usual  in  connection  with  her  ex- 
quisite usefulness,  Williams  said  in  his 
moderate  way  that  one  might  suppose,  from 
the  remarks  that  were  made  about  her,  that 
Milly  Robinson  had  come  into  the  world 
labeled  "  Mrs.  Dansken's  Second  Girl." 

"  Now  when  Frank  and  I  were  baching 
it,"  he  continued,  "  I  used  to  cook  the  grub, 
but  I  did  n't  give  myself  out  as  a  cook  —  not 
generally.  I  continued  to  retain  a  small 
portion  of  my  individuality ;  enough  to  keep 
Frank  up  to  his  work,  which  was  the  dish- 
washing, you  know." 

"  That  is  a  perfectly  childish  argument. 
If  you  had  come  here  and  cooked  my  food,  I 
should  have  given  you  out  as  my  cook,  and 
treated  you  accordingly,  and  not  very  bad 
treatment  either :  ask  Ann." 


THE  SITUATION.  73 

"  Illustration  is  n't  argument,  of  course  :  I 
only  wished  to  ask  you  if  you  think  we  are 
to  be  classed  strictly  according  to  our  occu- 
pations," said  Williams. 

"It  depends  upon  the  occupation.  The 
occupation  of  a  servant  makes  a  servant,  for 
the  time  being,  unless  the  occupation  is 
neglected ;  in  that  case  the  servant  is  a  bad 
servant,  and  had  better  try  some  other  occu- 
pation." 

"  Then  if  I  should  elope  with  Milly,  —  as 
I  've  been  thinking  of  doing,  you  know,  just 
as  soon  as  you  can  find  another  girl,  —  and 
we  should  come  back  after  a  while,  and  ask 
you  to  make  room  for  Mrs.  Williams  at  the 
table,  then  the  other  girl  would  be  the  ser- 
vant, and  Mrs.  Williams  "  — 

" '  Illustration  is  not  argument,'  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, and  there  is  n't  going  to  be  any  argu- 
ment or  any  illustration,  I  hope.  I  captured 
the  position  to  begin  with  because  I  knew 
just  how  it  would  be  with  you  theorists. 
Wait  till  you  get  servants  of  your  own  and 
wives  of  your  own  to  manage  them.  I  think 
the  wives  will  agree  with  me." 

"  Well,  we  have  n't  got  to  the  wives  yet. 
It 's  an  abstract  question  with  us  so  far." 


74      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  It  's  never  an  abstract  question.  It  's 
always  a  question  of  a  particular  person 
when  you  come  to  live  in  the  same  house 
with  them.  In  this  case  it 's  a  question  of 
a  very  pretty  girl." 

"  It  is  just  possible  that  even  a  pretty  girl 
may  be  human,"  said  Frank  Embury. 

"  We  're  sure  to  hear  from  Frank  when 
the  pretty  girl  needs  a  champion,"  said  Mrs. 
Dansken.  "  And  what  is  there  about  Milly's 
position  here  —  which  is  altogether  volun- 
tary, remember  —  that  strikes  you  as  in- 
human?" 

"  I  think  I  know  one  or  two  pretty  girls 
who  would  n't  care  to  change  places  with 
her." 

"  We  cannot  change  places  in  this  world, 
my  dear  boy.  We  have  our  little  fitnesses 
and  unfitnesses,  and  we  '11  find  ourselves  in 
the  long  run  pretty  much  where  we  belong." 

"  I  should  hardly  say  it  had  come  to  the 
long  run  yet  with  Milly  Kobinson.  How 
long  is  it  since  her  fitness  for  this  place  was 
discovered ;  and  what  was  the  place  she  fitted 
before  she  came  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  when  I  saw  her  first,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Dansken,  "  she  fitted  a  very  nicely 


THE  SITUATION.  75 

made  walking-jacket  they  were  trying  to  sell 
me*  at  Daniel  &  Fisher's." 

"What,  Mrs.  Dansken?" 

"  She  was  trying  on  jackets  for  customers 
at  Daniel  &  Fisher's,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken, 
explicitly.  "  How  would  your  pretty  girl  like 
that?"  No  one  answered;  and  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken, in  a  very  good  humor,  asked  them  then 
if  they  had  ever  heard  the  story  of  the  prin- 
cess and  the  wishing-chair.  "  Ann  used  to 
tell  it  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  Could  you 
listen  to  a  story,  supposing  I  can  remember 
half  of  it,  and  make  up  the  other  half  ? 

"  Well,  once  there  was  a  king  who  had  six 
beautiful  daughters  ;  and  in  one  room  of  the 
palace  stood  the  wishing-chair  on  a  dais,  with 
a  curtain  before  it,  and  on  her  sixteenth 
birthday  each  of  the  princesses  in  turn  was 
allowed  to  sit  in  the  wishing-chair  and  wish 
the  wish  of  a  lifetime.  The  youngest  prin- 
cess was  a  madcap.  She  made  fun  of  the 
stupid  old  chair  and  of  her  sisters'  wishes  for 
jewels  and  castles  and  handsome  young  hus- 
bands, that  would  have  come  of  themselves 
in  due  time.  She  said  when  her  turn  came 
she  would  wish  a  wish  that  would  show  what 
the  old  chair  could  do. 


76  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL, 

"There  was  a  prince  in  that  county  of 
Ireland  very  wealthy  and  powerful,  and  he 
was  bewitched,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  spend 
half  of  his  time  roaming  the  country  in  the 
shape  of  a  terrible  wild  roan  bull,  and  he  was 
called  the  Roan  Bull  of  Orange.  Now  the 
youngest  princess,  when  she  got  into  the  chair 
at  last,  turned  rather  pale,  and  she  wished, 
while  her  father  and  mother  and  all  the 
happy  sisters  wept  and  pleaded,  that  she 
might  be  the  bride  of  the  Roan  Bull  of 
Orange.  And  then  she  flew  out  of  the  chair 
and  hugged  them  all  round,  and  said  that  it 
was  all  nonsense  —  the  chair  was  as  deaf  as 
a  post,  and  the  Roan  Bull  would  never  hear 
of  her  wish. 

"  However,  he  came  that  night,  trampling 
and  bellowing  about  the  house,  and  demanded 
the  princess.  And  the  princess  went  and 
hid  behind  her  mother's  bed.  They  took  the 
daughter  of  the  hen-wife  instead,  and  dressed 
her  up  in  the  princess's  clothes  and  packed 
her  off ;  and  when  the  Bull  had  carried  her 
on  his  back  across  the  hills  and  the  valleys  to 
his  castle,  he  gave  her  an  ivory  wand  and 
charged  her,  on  her  life,  to  tell  him  what  she 
would  do  with  it ;  and  she  sobbed  out  she 


THE  SITUATION.  77 

would  shoo  her  mother's  hens  to  roost  with  it. 
So  the  Roan  Bull  took  her  on  his  back  again, 
and  over  the  mountains  with  her,  and 
slammed  her  down  at  the  door  of  the  king's 
palace,  '  fit  to  break  every  bone  in  her  body,' 
and  demanded  his  princess.  After  they  had 
heard  the  hen-wife's  daughter's  story  they 
took  the  daughter  of  the  swineherd,  and 
charged  her,  if  the  Roan  Bull  gave  her  an 
ivory  wand,  she  was  to  say  she  would  guide 
her  milk-white  steeds  with  it ;  and  so  should 
she  save  the  life  of  her  dear  little  princess. 
But  she  thought  as  much  of  her  own  life,  it 
seems,  as  she  did  of  the  princess's,  or  perhaps 
she  was  so  frightened  she  could  n't  speak 
anything  but  the  truth  ;  for  when  the  Roan 
Bull  gave  her  the  wand  and  glared  at  her 
with  his  awful  eyes,  she  said  nothing  at  all 
about  milk-white  steeds,  but  whispered  she 
would  drive  her  father's  pigs  with  it.  So 
back  she  went  like  the  first  one,  and  was 
slammed  down  at  the  door,  and  this  time  the 
Bull  fairly  raved  for  his  princess.  They  had 
an  awful  night  of  it  in  the  palace,  for  the 
princess  had  '  got  her  mad  up,'  and  said  she 
would  have  no  more  of  these  silly  substitutes. 
She  took  the  Bull  by  the  horns,  as  it  were, 


78      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

and  off  she  went,  in  the  clothes  she  had  on  ; 
and  when  the  wand  was  given  to  her  she  said 
without  the  least  hesitation  that  it  would  be 
very  convenient  to  beat  the  maid  with  who 
did  her  hair,  when  she  pulled  the  tangles  in 
it.  So  the  Roan  Bull  knew  he  had  got  the 
right  one  at  last ;  and  if  you  don't  see  the 
application  "  — 

44  But  what  became  of  the  naughty  little 
princess?" 

"  Oh,  miracles  were  performed  to  save  her 
from  getting  what  she  deserved  —  I  don't 
remember  that  part ;  it  never  seemed  real  to 
me,  like  the  other.  What  I  wish  you  to  ob- 
serve, is  the  Roan  Bull's  ingenious  way  of 
testing  for  metals.  And  there  my  illustra- 
tion comes  in,  don't  you  see ;  for  when  dire 
necessity  gets  us  in  a  tight  place,  and  puts 
the  wand  of  opportunity  into  our  hands,  we 
discover  pretty  suddenly  that  we  are  what 
we  are,  neither  more  nor  less,  and  some  of 
us  turn  out  to  be  keepers  of  highly  select 
boarding-houses,  and  some  of  us  wait  on  the 
boarding-house  table,  and  we  do  it  much  bet- 
ter than  if  we  had  been  born  princesses." 

"And  I  hope  you  respect  yourselves  more 
than  if  you  had  gone  and  hid  behind  the  bed, 


THE  SITUATION.  79 

and  let  some  one  else  face  dire  necessity  in 
your  place." 

"  Of  course  we  do.  I  don't  say  we  are  not 
much  better  than  princesses,  only  we  are  dif- 
ferent. We  could  n't  change  places  without 
being  found  out.  Now  I  insist  that  Milly 
Robinson,  who  seems  to  be  the  text  of  all  our 
sermons  lately,  has  somehow  got  the  sort  of 
discipline  that  makes  it  possible  for  her  to  live 
in  this  house  in  the  way  you  see.  It 's  very 
strong,  if  you  like,  and  very  admirable,  but  I 
don't  feel  called  upon  to  be  a  bit  more  sorry 
for  her  than  I  am  for  myself." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  n't  be  sorry 
for  yourself,  if  you  want  to.  You  were  not 
born  a  Leadville  landlady,  were  you,  Mrs. 
Dansken  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dansken  blushed.  "I  don't  know 
what  I  was  born.  I  know  that  I  am  one 
pro  tern.,  and  not  so  very  tern,  either.  As 
you  say,  it 's  better  than  hiding  behind  the 
mother's  bed,  but  I  really  do  not  feel  there 
is  any  great  virtue  in  it,  so  long  as  there  is 
no  mothers  bed  to  hide  behind.  My  point 
is  simply  this  :  your  mothers  could  not  be 
successful  where  I  have  been  successful, 
thanks  to  you,  my  dear  boys,  and  yet  not  all 


Of    '*' 

XJ^IVE 


80      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

thanks  to  you.  Your  sisters,  probably, 
would  not  suit  me  as  well  as  Milly  does,  in 
Milly's  place.  But  I  hope  you  don't  think 
it  's  anything  against  them.  I  don't ;  I 
could  n't  imagine  one  of  your  sisters  trying 
on  jackets  at  Daniel  &  Fisher's." 

The  young  men  considered  this  second  ref- 
erence to  the  jacket  unfair ;  Mrs.  Dansken 
herself  knew  that  it  was,  since  exhibiting 
jackets  on  her  person  had  not  been  Milly's 
occupation.  She  forgave  them,  therefore, 
the  heat  of  their  reply.  But  the  retorts  on 
both  sides  were  now  too  hotly  engaged  for 
mutual  consideration,  much  less  strict  justice 
to  the  cause  of  the  fray. 

"  How  do  I  know  what  she  was,  or  is,  for 
that  matter?  I  have  only  her  word  for  it. 
They  make  a  great  point  of  never  having 
lived  out,  when  the  most  of  them  have  never 
been  so  comfortable,  nor  so  cared  for,  in  their 
lives  before." 

"'Them'  —  'they  I'  Who  are  'they,' 
Mrs.  Dansken  ?  " 

"  Anybody  who  is  n't  us,"  said  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken. 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  room  as  the  shut- 
ting of  a  drawer  was  heard,  and  the  door 


THE  SITUATION.  81 

leading  from  the  dining-room  into  the  kitchen 
closed  quietly. 

The  combatants  looked  at  each  other  rather 
sheepishly. 

"  You  are  safe,  my  dear  boys.  She  could 
only  have  heard  the  voice  of  her  natural 
enemy." 

The  voice  of  the  "  enemy  "  had  the  quality 
which  carries. 


PAET  II. 

THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED. 
I. 

IT  was  two  months  or  more  after  Milly 
came  that  Mrs.  Dansken  began  to  fancy 
the  situation  was  becoming  strained.  The 
weather  was  now  extremely  cold ;  the  ice  on 
the  water-cask  of  a  morning  was  so  thick 
that  it  was  necessary  to  cut  it  with  a  hatchet. 
In  doing  this  Milly  had  cut  her  hand,  and 
again  there  was  an  uprising  on  the  subject 
of  the  water-pitchers.  Mrs.  Dansken  was 
immovable  and  logical,  as  usual. 

Had  it  ever  occurred  to  the  young  men  to 
inquire  how  the  little  woman  who  did  their 
washing  managed  to  get  her  tubs  filled,  this 
winter  weather,  with  the  "  ditch "  half  a 
mile  from  her  cabin  ?  It  had  not  occurred 
to  Mrs.  Dansken  to  make  active  inquiries 
on  this  subject  herself.  She  considered  it 
was  none  of  her  business ;  nor  was  it  the 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  83 

business  of  her  young  men  to  concern  them- 
selves how  their  water-pitchers  were  filled. 
Both  were  paying  to  have  these  things  done 
without  inquiries.  But  for  the  sake  of  con- 
sistency, would  they  tell  her  how  they  could 
put  on  a  clean  shirt  without  thinking  of  the 
woman  who  washed  it  —  a  little  woman,  not 
half  so  big  as  Milly,  and  an  old  woman  at 
that  ?  "  As  for  the  little  scratch  Milly  has 
given  herself  —  well,  it  is  n't  the  fashion  to 
speak  of  such  things,  but  you  should  see 
Mrs.  Murphy's  wrists !  If  you  can  only 
accept  service  that  costs  nothing,  you  '11  cer- 
tainly have  to  wash  your  own  shirts." 

After  breakfast  Strode  handed  to  Mrs. 
Dansken  an  unopened  pot  of  vaseline. 

"  What  's  this  for  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  For  the  wrists  it  is  not  the  fashion  to 
mention." 

"Oh,  I  gave  her  some  myself.  Even  a 
hard-hearted  person  like  me  can  spare  a  lit- 
tle vaseline.  Pray  keep  it,  or  give  it  to 
Milly.  If  we  should  take  up  a  contribution 
for  her  wounds,  she  might  anoint  herself 
from  head  to  foot,  like  a  Fijian  bride." 

This  time,  decidedly,  there  was  temper 
shown  on  both  sides.  But  the  little  washer- 


84      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

woman  told  Mrs.  Dansken,  with  tears  of 
gratitude,  when  she  came  with  her  weekly 
basket,  how  kind  the  young  men  had  been 
—  how  they  had  sent  a  man  to  dig  a  little 
channel  from  the  main  hydraulic  mining 
ditch  to  her  cabin,  so  that  now  she  had  the 
water  at  her  door. 

Mrs.  Dansken  knew  that  this  tapping  of 
a  main  ditch  meant  considerable  trouble  as 
well  as  money,  but  she  did  not  attempt  to 
sully  the  widow's  gratitude  by  casting  doubts 
upon  the  motives  of  her  benefactors.  It 
was  Mrs.  Dansken's  opinion  that  one  motive 
was  as  good  as  another,  so  long  as  the  result 
was  the  same. 

As  Christmas  drew  near,  the  subject  of 
gifts  was  mooted.  The  young  men  made 
sarcastic  allusions  to  the  rules  of  the  house, 
and  asked  if  their  oath  permitted  them 
to  remember  the  waitress,  as  well  as  the 
cook.  "  As  a  waitress,  certainly,"  they  were 
informed.  And  how  were  they  to  make  it 
sufficiently  understood  that  the  remembrance 
applied  to  the  waitress  to  the  exclusion  of 
the  girl? 

"  Easily  enough,"  Mrs.  Dansken  explained, 
with  gravity  equal  to  their  own.  Let  the  re- 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  85 

memb ranee  take  the  form  of  a  general  gift 
from  them  all  to  Milly,  not  from  each  one 
of  them  to  Miss  Robinson. 

It  might  be  difficult,  the  young  men  ob- 
jected, to  unite  on  a  single  gift  that  should 
represent  them  all. 

Would  they  find  it  difficult  to  unite  on  a 
gift  for  Ann? 

The  session  broke  up  with  something  of 
the  old  hilarity  ;  only  Mrs.  Dansken  insisted 
that  the  gift  should  be  appropriate.  The 
term  was  allowed,  without  discussion  of  its 
application  to  a  gift  for  Milly.  But  an  op- 
portunity was  not  long  delayed  for  further 
elucidation  of  Mrs.  Dansken's  views  on  this 
subject. 

A  few  of  her  guests,  among  them  Frank 
Embury,  were  in  the  habit  of  knocking  occa- 
sionally at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room  where 
she  betook  herself  to  wrestle  with  her  ac- 
counts, or  make  over  her  dresses,  or  hold 
consultations  with  Ann.  She  had  drawn 
closer  in  these  days  to  the  older  woman,  and 
liked  a  quiet  talk  with  her  on  matters  which 
had  been  their  own  before  the  stranger  had 
come  into  the  house. 

Frank  knocked  and  entered  with  a  pile  of 


86  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

books  under  his  arm  ;  they  slid  to  the  floor 
as  he  took  a  seat.  Mrs.  Dansken  was  care- 
ful not  to  look  at  them  too  closely,  thinking 
they  were  for  herself.  Frank  saw  that  she 
thought  so,  and  this  made  •  it  more  difficult 
for  him  to  say  that  they  were  for  Milly. 

Mrs.  Dansken  recovered  herself,  and 
looked  at  the  books  with  the  most  amiable 
interest.  "  Is  this  the  general  gift  ?  "  she 
asked,  wondering  not  a  little  at  the  choice 
of  a  modern  edition  of  Miss  Austen's  novels. 

"No,"  said  Frank.  "It  is  something  I 
thought  of  doing  on  my  own  account;  or, 
rather,  of  getting  you  to  help  me  to  do." 

"  You  wish  me  to  help  you  give  these 
books  to  Milly  Robinson  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  that  is,  they  are  submitted  first, 
of  course,  to  the  public  censor  of  gifts." 

Mrs.  Dansken  did  not  like  to  be  called 
names,  though  she  could  sometimes  give 
them  to  others  with  great  facility. 

"  Frank  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  really  it 
seems  almost  perverse  of  you  to  insist  upon 
this  sort  of  thing!  These  are  books  you 
could  give  your  sister.  Why  do  you  wish 
to  give  her  books?  " 

"  I   don't   wish   to   give    her  poor  ones. 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  87 

That  's  the  kind  she  seems  to  be  reading 
now." 

"  Dear  me !  How  do  you  know  what  she 
reads?" 

"  Oh,  I  happen  to  know,"  said  Frank. 

"  But  these  are  books  entirely  over  the 
head  of  a  girl  like  Milly.  Have  you  ever 
read  Miss  Austen  ?  " 

Frank  owned  that  he  had  not. 

"  I  have  n't  either,  but  I  've  got  an  idea 
she  is  a  sort  of  fad  nowadays,  like  old  mini- 
atures and  paintings  on  velvet." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  she  's  a  fad.  My  sis- 
ters were  reading  her  in  an  old  edition  that 
belonged  to  one  of  my  aunts  —  board  covers 
and  paper  labels  and  jolly  rough  edges." 

"  Well,  your  sisters  may  come  naturally 
by  their  Miss  Austen  in  board  covers.  I 
don't  mean  she  would  be  a  fad  for  every- 
body. '  Pride  and  Prejudice  ! '  '  Sense  and 
Sensibility  ! '  Now,  Frank,  do  you  suppose 
when  Milly  Robinson  has  got  through  one 
of  these  books  —  which  I  doubt  if  she  ever 
does  —  she  will  have  the  faintest  idea  what 
even  the  title  means?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  said  Frank, 
sulkily.  He  was  not  so  confident  himself 


88  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

about  his  choice,  which  was  one  reason  for 
indulging  ill-humor  now  that  it  was  being 
criticised. 

"  Oh,  well,  give  her  the  books  if  you  want 
to,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  relenting  in  amuse- 
ment at  his  disgust.  "  She  will  be  the  chief 
sufferer." 

"  I  wanted  you  to  give  them  to  her." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not !  She  'd  think  I  was 
making  fun  of  her." 

"  Then  keep  them,  and  read  them  your- 
self," said  Frank,  maliciously. 

"  No,  you  must  take  this  admirable  female 
back,  and  get  something  of  Mrs.  Whitney's 
—  no,  Mrs.  Whitney  writes  about  high-toned 
servant  girls.  I  'm  afraid  she  would  be  de- 
moralizing. Are  n't  Grace  Aguilar's  books 
read  a  good  deal  by  young  girls  ?  " 

"  By  young  servant  girls,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  we  would  not  make  much  of 
a  committee  on  books  for  girls,  Frank,"  said 
Mrs.  Dansken,  forgiving  him  entirely  now 
that  she  had  made  him  lose  his  temper. 
"  Don't  you  know  any  books  that  are  safe 
and  easy  to  understand  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  kind  I  read,"  said  Frank. 
"  I  'm  afraid  the  4  Weekly  Light  of  Home ' 
is  n't  very  safe." 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  89 

"Is  that  what  Milly  reads  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  sometimes." 

"  Well,  I  must  look  after  her  reading,  for 
your  sake.  But  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
how  you  came  to  know  so  much  more  about 
it  than  I  do  ?  " 

"  It  's  not  much  that  I  know.  You  could 
easily  get  the  inside  track  of  me  there." 

Mrs.  Dansken  seemed  struck  by  this  ex- 
pression. "  The  inside  track !  Yes,  of 
course,  there  are  two  ways  of  getting  there. 
Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that  my  way  is 
n't  the  true  way  ?  Frank,"  she  exclaimed  in 
a  burst  of  harassed  confidence,  "  if  I  could 
only  be  fond  of  the  girl,  as  I  am  of  crabbed 
old  Ann  —  if  I  could  make  her  like  me  and 
trust  me,  as  Ann  does !  Well,  I  should 
know  all  about  her  then  —  more  than  any 
of  you  could  know.  But  I  cannot  do  it. 
Good  people,  I  think,  have  no  likes  or  dis- 
likes." ( Mrs.  Dansken  always  spoke  of 
good  people  with  toleration  as  a  race  by 
themselves,  alien  in  some  sense  to  the  rest 
of  humanity.)  "  I  would  like  to  make 
Milly  believe  that  I  like  her,  but  she  has  her 
intuitions.  I  would  get  rid  of  her,  if  I  could 
possibly  get  on  without  her.  I  hate  to  ac- 


90  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

knowledge  what  a  difference  she  has  made 
in  the  house.  And  yet,  there  are  days  — 
oh,  well,  this  is  all '  nerves,'  don't  you  know  ? 
Did  you  ever  find  yourself  nursing  an  an- 
tagonism ?  You  have  no  idea  how  it  occu- 
pies the  mind.  It  's  as  exciting  as  the  first 
stages  of  a  love  affair." 

"How  queer  women  are  about  their  busi- 
ness relations,"  said  Frank.  "  They  are  so 
personal.  Men  never  think  whether  they 
like  each  other  or  not.  They  get  on  together 
all  the  same." 

"  So  do  I  get  on.  Don't  I  get  on  most 
beautifully  ?  I  've  never  had  a  word  with 
Milly  —  and  yet  there  are  mornings  when  I 
wake  up  and  think,  I  've  got  to  go  down 
stairs  and  say,  '  Good-morning,  Milly  !  '  and 
look  at  her  without  meeting  her  eyes.  She 
never  looks  at  me  !  —  Well,  I  wish  I  had 
the  house  clear  of  her  and  the  work  just  as 
hard  as  it  was  before." 

"Mrs.  Dansken,  you  are  certainly  mor- 
bid." 

"  I  told  you  I  was.  I  've  let  myself  go. 
Do  you  see  anything  uncanny  about  her, 
Frank  ?  Honestly,  apart  from  all  our  bad- 
gerings,  does  she  seem  to  you  a  nice  girl  ?  " 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  91 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  her,  Mrs. 
Dansken,  or  about  girls  anyway.  You  know 
they  are  all  mysteries  to  us." 

"  4  They,'  4  us  ' !  "  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  in 
great  irritation.  "  I  'm  not  asking  you  about 
Milly  Robinson  as  a  parti" 

"  Do  you  mean,  do  I  think  she  would  steal 
the  spoons  ?  "  shouted  Frank. 

"  There  are  things  in  this  house  besides 
spoons  that  do  not  belong  to  a  girl  in  Milly's 
position." 

"  Good  heavens,  Mrs.  Dansken  !  Have  we 
any  of  us  any  position  that  we  can  hold  all 
alone  ?  Are  we  blocks  of  stone  in  a  quarry, 
set  up  alongside  of  one  another  ?  " 

"  Frank,  I  wish  you  had  a  block  of  stone 
in  place  of  that  soft  heart  of  yours." 

Frank  blushed  angrily.  "  Yes,  when  peo- 
ple talk  about  other  people's  soft  hearts, 
they  generally  mean  their  soft  heads." 

Mrs.  Dansken  laughed  outright  at  this; 
and  before  Frank  carried  the  estimable  Miss 
Austen  away,  the  quarrel  was  made  up. 

"  Superintend  her  education,  if  you  want 
to,"  were  Mrs.  Dansken's  parting  words.  "  I 
shall  not  interfere.  I  won't  have  it  on  my 
conscience  that  if  I  'm  not  good  myself  I 
keep  others  from  being  good." 


92      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

In  spite  of  the  little  taunt,  Frank  under- 
stood that  Mrs.  Dansken  meant  to  trust  him 
in  all  that  concerned  Milly.  He  was  too 
young  a  philosophizer  about  women  to  be 
able  to  conclude  how  much  of  her  confession 
was  a  true  mental  record  and  how  much  had 
been  evolved  in  the  excitement  of  controversy 
and  self -revelation.  His  own  simple  judg- 
ment in  the  matter  was,  that  if  she  would 
stop  thinking  that  she  felt  thus  and  so  about 
Milly,  she  would  cease  to  feel  so. 

For  several  days  after  Mrs.  Dansken's  talk 
with  Frank,  in  which  she  had  let  her  aver- 
sion see  the  light  of  day,  she  felt  its  hold  re- 
lax. She  refrained  from  watchfulness ;  she 
did  not  refer  to  Milly  as  the  Sphinx,  or  the 
Phenomenon,  or  the  Perfect  Treasure  :  she 
spoke  of  her  by  name,  quite  simply  and 
humanly,  without  any  exhibitory  adjectives. 
She  looked  her  antagonism  in  the  face  and 
saw  only  a  pretty  girl  in  an  attitude  of  set, 
despondent  passivity,  and  of  continuous  hard 
work.  She  could  not  accuse  herself  of  hav- 
ing failed  in  her  part  of  the  agreement  under 
which  Milly  had  been  glad  to  come  ;  nor  had 
Milly,  on  her  own  part,  ever  complained  or 
protested. 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  93 

Why,  then,  should  Mrs.  Dansken  have 
dreaded  to  meet  the  girl  on  the  stairs,  or 
alone  in  her  bedroom,  engaged  in  those  in- 
timate services  we  call  menial,  which  are 
assuredly  as  difficult  to  accept  as  to  render 
in  a  forced  relation  ? 


II. 


ON  Christmas  morning,  after  a  late  break- 
fast, the  tree  was  lighted  in  the  darkened 
parlor,  and  the  family  gathered  around  it. 
Ann  and  Milly  came  in  after  the  others  had 
assembled,  and  stood  a  little  apart,  but  not 
together. 

Two  of  the  young  men  gathered  the  fruits 
of  the  tree  and  gave  them  into  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken 's  lap  as  she  sat  in  the  most  prominent 
place  in  the  room  and  called  the  names  at- 
tached to  the  gifts.  She  had  not  meant  to 
watch  the  effect  of  the  young  men's  "re- 
membrance" upon  Milly;  but  when  the 
cumbersome  box  was  handed  to  her,  contain- 
ing a  muff  and  cape  of  long  dark  fur,  which 
Mrs.  Dansken  had  selected,  thinking  of  the 
color  of  Milly's  hair,  curiosity  as  to  how  the 


94  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

girl  would  demean  herself  overcame  her. 
The  manner  of  accepting  a  gift  is  one  of  the 
tests  of  breeding,  even  more  than  the  manner 
of  giving,  since  the  passive  part  is  always 
the  hardest. 

"  From  the  young  gentlemen,  Milly,"  said 
Mrs.  Dansken.  "  Won't  you  open  it  ?  "  she 
added,  as  the  girl  took  the  box  and  held  it 
awkwardly,  looking  discomposed  rather  than 
happy. 

Milly  sat  down  —  there  was  no  chair  very 
near  —  and  bungled  with  the  string.  One  or 
two  of  the  young  men  looked  at  her,  but  most 
of  them  found  something  to  take  their  atten- 
tion elsewhere.  Ann  regarded  Milly's  part 
with  toleration,  holding  her  own  present  on 
her  arm  —  a  fur-lined  mantle,  of  a  quality  of 
silk  superior  to  that  of  her  mistress's,  as  the 
latter  had  playfully  remarked,  adding  that 
she  should  have  to  borrow  Ann's  cloak  when 
she  wished  to  be  fine. 

"  Do  cut  this  string,  somebody,"  Mrs. 
Dansken  demanded  on  behalf  of  Milly.  She 
looked  at  Frank  Embury,  who  immediately 
looked  away.  The  string  was  cut  and  the 
cape  unfolded  from  its  paper  wrappings. 

"Now  let  us  put  it  on  you,  Milly,"  she 


THE  SITUATION   DEVELOPED.  95 

said.  "  We  must  show  them  how  it  becomes 
you.  I  feel  responsible,  because  I  chose  it." 
She  was  helping  Milly  to  disburden  herself 
of  her  gratitude,  if  it  were  that  which  op- 
pressed her.  More  likely,  in  Mrs.  Dansken's 
opinion,  the  girl  was  sulking  because  she 
had  thought  Ann's  present  handsomer  than 
her  own. 

Milly  submitted  to  be  dressed  in  her 
costly  gift  before  the  eyes  of  the  givers. 
There  had  been  nothing  from  Milly  to  the 
young  gentlemen.  As  a  matter  of  course 
the  liberty  to  give  belonged  to  them.  Her 
part  was  to  accept  and  be  thankful.  She 
stood  up,  looking  embarrassed  and  sullen, 
and  said,  without  raising  her  eyes,  that  she 
was  very  much  obliged  to  the  gentlemen. 
And  then  suddenly  she  looked  at  Frank 
Embury.  His  eyes  met  hers  with  an  inex- 
plicable expression  of  humility,  of  apology : 
Milly  may  have  understood  what  the  look 
meant. 

Mrs.  Dansken  saw  it,  but  in  her  mood  of 
forbearance  she  would  not  permit  herself  to 
take  alarm. 

There  was  a  dance  that  evening  in  the 
parlor  of  No.  9.  Ann,  who  had  exhausted 


96      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

her  energies  on  the  Christmas  dinner,  had 
been  dismissed  to  bed.  At  ten  o'clock  a 
waiter  from  the  Clarendon  knocked  at  the 
kitchen  door  with  a  parcel  of  cakes  and  a 
form  of  ices.  The  mistress,  on  the  alert  in 
the  midst  of  the  lanciers,  signaled  to  Em- 
bury. 

"  Go  and  help  Milly,"  she  whispered. 
"  Show  her  how  to  dump  the  cream." 

Frank  took  this  command  as  a  recognition 
of  the  new  compact  between  them,  as  well  as 
a  concession  to  the  spirit  of  the  day.  But  he 
gave  her  an  arch  look  of  inquiry,  as  if  to  ask, 
"  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?  "  Appealing  glances 
from  other  partnerless  youths,  propping  the 
walls  of  Mrs.  Dansken's  parlor,  signified  their 
desire  to  be  of  use,  but  were  laughingly  par- 
ried. 

As  the  dance  went  on,  subdued  sounds  of 
voices  and  steps  and  the  quiet  tinkle  of  silver 
could  be  heard  behind  the  dining-room  cur- 
tain. An  occasional  bumping  of  plates  be- 
trayed to  the  housekeeper's  ear  the  unprac- 
ticed  masculine  touch.  Mrs.  Dansken  was 
tired  of  her  vigils.  "  What  business  is  it  of 
mine?"  she  asked  herself.  "Let  nature 
have  its  way."  But  nature's  ways  are  wild 


TflE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  97 

ways,  under  conditions  that  are  not  legiti- 
mate—  when  the  wives  usurp  the  young 
girls'  places  in  the  dance,  and  the  young  girl 
of  the  house  has  no  friends  in  it,  and  no  par- 
tisans, except  the  young  men  of  the  house. 
Mrs.  Dansken  had  created  this  situation,  had 
set  it  on  wheels,  confident  that  she  could 
steer  it  safely  and  make  profit  to  herself  out 
of  it.  But  the  vigilance  of  suspicion  is  never 
so  sure  or  so  untiring  as  the  vigilance  of 
love.  Mrs.  Dansken's  way  was  the  way  of 
all  expedients,  by  which  we  hope  to  avoid 
the  consequences  of  some  fundamental  ill- 
adjustment  in  our  plans. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  supper  was 
over,  the  mistress  said :  "  You  may  go  to  bed 
now,  Milly ;  I  shall  not  call  you  till  half -past 
seven  to-morrow." 

No  mistress,  not  the  most  forbearing,  could 
have  liked  to  be  smiled  at  in  the  way  in 
which  Milly  smiled  whenever  Mrs.  Dansken 
tried  to  be,  as  she  called  it,  "  nice "  to  the 
girl.  At  such  times  Milly  herself  was  not 
nice,  nor  pleasant  to  look  at,  for  all  her 
prettiness.  The  impression  blotted  all  the 
back  pages  of  Mrs.  Dansken's  mental  record 
of  the  girl ;  she  seemed  to  have  been  always 


98      THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL, 

smiling  in  that  unpleasant  way,  without  rais- 
ing her  eyes. 

Milly  locked  the  silver-drawer,  put  the  key 
in  its  place,  and  returned  to  the  kitchen. 
Here  she  remembered  that  she  had  not  her 
kindlings  for  the  morning  fires,  and  taking 
an  old  shawl  from  its  nail  behind  the  door, 
she  wrapped  her  head  and  shoulders  in  it 
and  went  out. 

The  night  was  clear  and  piercingly  cold. 
Her  breath  made  a  little  cloud  before  her  in 
the  moonlight  as  she  crossed  the  trodden 
space  between  the  kitchen  and  the  wood- 
shed. At  the  door  of  the  shed  she  encoun- 
tered Mr.  Embury  with  his  hands  full  of 
light-wood  and  shavings  sifting  dust  over  his 
evening  trousers. 

"  I  heard  you  say  that  you  had  forgotten 
your  kindlings  ;  and  it 's  so  late,  you  know, 
and  so  horribly  cold  "  — 

Certainly  the  thing  he  was  doing,  waiting 
upon  Mrs.  Dansken's  waitress,  called  for  an 
apology,  even  to  the  waitress  herself. 

He  was  bareheaded.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing up  the  short  locks  from  his  forehead.  He 
looked  very  kind  and  handsome,  but,  as  he 
felt,  very  much  out  of  place. 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         .  99 

Milly  held  out  her  apron.  "  Run  in  ;  run 
in,  quick !  "  he  commanded.  "  You  '11  freeze 
to  death ! " 

She  laughed  excitedly  as  she  ran  before 
him  into  the  kitchen  and  closed  the  door  upon 
them  both.  It  occurred  to  Frank  that  he 
had  never  heard  her  laugh  before  —  he  had 
never  heard,  in  the  camp,  a  girl's  laugh  that 
was  innocent. 

Milly  drew  out  from  behind  the  stove  a 
box  into  which  Frank  noiselessly  deposited 
the  kindlings.  The  kitchen  lamp,  not  smok- 
ing, as  kitchen  lamps  are  apt  to,  but  burning 
clean  and  clear,  showed  the  state  of  his 
trousers. 

"  Shall  I  slip  up  stairs  and  get  your  clothes- 
brush?" 

"No,"  he  said,  beating  himself  with  his 
hands. 

"  Let  me  sweep  you  off,  then.  I  've  a 
clean  broom  in  the  closet  here." 

He  stood  up,  laughing,  to  be  swept  down. 
"  How  about  this  ?  "  he  said,  glancing  at  the 
spillings  of  his  handful  of  kindlings  on  the 
floor.  "  Ann  will  know  you  never  did  that." 
Instinctively,  and  without  being  at  the  least 
pains,  he  was  as  secret  as  if  he  had  spent  his 
life  in  kitchen  conspiracies. 


100     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  I  '11  sweep  it  all  up,"  said  Milly.  "  I  'm 
sure  I  'm  much  obliged,"  she  added  ;  and  al- 
though she  looked  at  him  as  if  she  expected 
him  to  say  good-night,  Frank  noticed  that  she 
seemed  happy  and  at  ease. 

"  It 's  late  for  you  to  be  up.  You  must  be 
very  tired,"  he  said,  raising  one  foot  to  the 
stove  hearth  and  leaning  his  arm  on  his  knee, 
in  an  attitude  for  conversation. 

Milly  softly  lifted  one  of  the  covers  of 
the  stove  and  stirred  the  coals  into  a  glow. 
The  kitchen,  with  its  lamp  turned  low,  and 
its  one  cold,  moonlit  window  at  the  dark 
end,  took  on  a  look  of  extreme  comfort  and 
seclusion. 

"  'Most  always  I  'd  rather  sit  up  than  go 
to  bed,"  said  Milly,  reflectively. 

"  Don't  you  get  awfully  sleepy  with  no 
one  to  talk  to  evenings?  " 

"  Yes,  no  one  but  Ann ;  I  suppose  it  's 
because  she  is  almost  always  sick,  but  she  's 
awful  cross.  She  wants  the  whole  bed.  I 
wish  she  had  it.  I  'd  a  good  deal  sooner 
sleep  on  the  floor,  if  it  was  n't  so  cold." 

Frank  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  this ; 
there  was  an  appalling  frankness  about  it 
as  a  revelation  of  the  undercurrent  of  life 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          101 

in  the  house.  A  sudden  irruption  of  male 
voices  and  footsteps  from  the  parlor  into  the 
dining-room  brought  him  to  a  sense  of  his 
own  position.  Milly  looked  at  him  in  un- 
disguised alarm.  She  made  haste  silently 
to  cover  the  light  of  the  stove  ;  and  as  she 
blew  out  the  lamp  and  slipped  into  the  pan- 
try, a  young  man,  hitherto  unpracticed  in 
hasty  retreats  into  back  regions  of  his 
friends'  dwellings,  found  himself  cooling  his 
hot  face  in  the  moonlight  among  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken's  wash-tubs  and  water-barrels,  reflecting 
upon  the  fact  that  of  all  the  men  in  the 
house  he  had  got  himself  chosen  as  the 
worthiest  of  its  mistress's  confidence. 

For  several  days  after  the  episode  of  the 
kindlingwood,  Frank's  behavior  to  Milly 
took  on  a  tone  of  extreme  loftiness.  He 
had  scarcely  spoken  six  words  to  the  girl 
before  that  evening,  except  such  as  Mrs. 
Dansken  might  have  indorsed  from  her  own 
point  of  view ;  yet  the  change  in  his  manner 
was  felt  by  Milly  as  distinctly  as  if  he  had 
tapped  her  on  the  head  by  way  of  enforcing 
it.  She  resented  the  young  man's  accession 
of  dignity  and  copied  it  faithfully,  so  far  as 
the  negations  of  their  intercourse  permitted 


102  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

the  one  who  served  to  copy  the  manner  of 
the  one  who  was  served. 

From  his  attitude  of  dignified  reserve 
Frank  lapsed  suddenly  into  an  extreme  fit 
of  homesickness.  Visions  of  his  cousin, 
of  the  marshes  and  the  shore,  swept  in  upon 
him  in  a  great  wave  of  bitterness  that  ob- 
literated the  tide-marks  left  by  the  restless 
risings  and  fallings  of  his  spirit.  He  was 
honestly  sure  of  his  case;  so  sure  and  so 
unhappy,  and  so  lonely  in  his  unhappiness, 
that  one  day  when  he  took  his  landlady  out 
on  the  Soda-springs  road  for  a  sleigh-ride, 
and  they  had  plunged  along  for  a  mile  or 
more  in  silence,  he  was  moved  to  unburden 
himself.  It  was  a  natural  but  most  unfor- 
tunate incident  of  his  friendship  with  Mrs. 
Dansken,  confirming  her,  as  he  did,  in  his 
present  faith  and  perfect  openness,  his  sor- 
row and  preoccupation,  and  convincing  her 
later  of  his  duplicity. 

There  is  no  un truthfulness  so  confounding 
as  that  which  a  perfectly  sincere  nature  oc- 
casionally can  perpetrate.  Frank  came 
home  from  this  ride  intrenched  in  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken's  confidence,  and  in  his  own  belief  in 
the  incurableness  of  his  old  love.  In  his 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.  103 

pity  for  himself  he  was  very  tender,  very 
lenient,  to  the  sufferer.  He  felt  he  was  en- 
titled to  all  that  woman's  friendship  can  do 
for  one  whom  love  for  a  woman  had  blighted. 
And  if  he  was  tender  with  himself,  he  did 
not  forget  to  be  tender  towards  others.  He 
felt  very  old  and  beneficent  when  he  thought 
of  Milly.  He  decided  that  he  would  forget 
all  about  that  ridiculous  scene  in  the  kitchen, 
and,  above  all,  cease  to  visit  his  annoyance 
with  himself  upon  her.  Had  he  been  more 
than  simply  helpful,  as  a  man  should  be  to 
women,  in  all  circumstances?  Would  he  not 
do  the  same  thing  again  if  it  came  in  his 
way  ?  —  with  this  difference  :  he  would  not 
retreat  among  the  wash-tubs,  and  leave  poor 
Milly  to  think  he  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  in 
her  company.  If  his  breeding  could  not 
support  such  a  situation  as  that,  what  was 
breeding  good  for  ? 

Mrs.  Dansken  held  out  her  hand  to  him 
when  they  parted  after  their  ride,  at  the  foot 
of  the  hall  stairs.  Because  it  was  a  pretty 
hand,  and  because  its  owner  had  been  kind 
to  him  in  ways  he  could  never  return,  he 
stooped  and  kissed  it.  As  they  stood  in  this 
attitude,  as  becoming  to  a  tall  young  man 


104     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

with  a  charming  profile  as  to  a  little  woman 
with  a  pretty  white  hand,  the  dining-room 
door  opened  and  Milly  Robinson  appeared, 
with  a  freshly  ironed  tablecloth  upon  her 
arm. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  avoiding  Mrs. 
Dansken's  stare  of  inquiry. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  wash  is  n't  home  yet,  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken,  and  this  is  the  last  tablecloth  in  the 
drawer,  and  it 's  got  a  slit  in  the  middle." 

"  Put  one  of  the  table-scarfs  over  it  —  the 
one  with  the  poppies." 

"  I  thought  you  did  n't  want  them  used 
every  day,"  said  Milly,  stung  by  the  insinu- 
ation that  the  interruption  had  been  need- 
less. 

"  It  is  n't  every  day  we  have  a  slit  in  the 
tablecloth,"  the  mistress  retorted,  sharply. 

Frank  was  shaking  with  laughter  as  he 
went  along  the  hall  to  his  room;  but  be- 
tween the  two  women  there  was  no  merri- 
ment. 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         105 


III. 

THERE  was  another  dance  at  No.  9,  this 
time  an  impromptu  one,  an  evening  or  two 
later.  Ann  and  Milly,  who  were  not  on 
duty,  were  supposed  to  be  in  bed  and  asleep. 
Ann  was  asleep,  but  Milly,  restless  with  the 
sound  of  the  music,  had  crept  up  the  stair- 
case, past  the  door  of  the  parlor,  where  all 
went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell,  and  seated 
herself  on  one  of  the  upper  steps,  with  her 
head  against  the  partition  wall,  listening 
with  benumbed  attention  to  the  soft  tread 
of  feet  keeping  time  to  the  continuous  beat 
of  the  music. 

She  roused  as  the  piano  stopped :  there 
was  a  discussion  of  some  sort  among  the 
dancers,  and  Embury,  who  was  obliging  and 
quick  on  his  feet,  shot  out  of  the  parlor- 
door  and  up  the  stairs  in  quest  of  Blash- 
field's  banjo. 

In  his  charge  upon  the  staircase  he  had 
very  nearly  tumbled  over  Milly  before  he 
perceived  her,  crouched  on  the  steps  in 
shadow.  He  passed  her,  as  she  rose,  with 
a  look  of  surprise  and  a  hasty  apology,  f um- 


106  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

bled  about  in  Blashfield's  bedroom,  seized 
the  banjo,  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Milly  again,  in  the  dusk  upper  hall. 

44 1  did  n't  mean  to  go  bowling  into  you 
like  that,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  know  you 
were  there." 

"  I  was  listening  to  the  music,"  Milly  ex- 
plained, looking  at  him  earnestly,  as  if  to 
compel  his  attention. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  dancing  ?  "  Frank 
asked,  kindly. 

Milly  did  not  answer ;  she  hesitated  as  if 
she  had  something  more  to  say.  Frank 
smiled  at  her  encouragingly. 

"  You  won't  speak  of  it  in  there,  will 
you?" 

"  Speak  of  what,  Milly  ?  " 

"  You  won't  say  I  was  sitting  on  the 
stairs  ?  She  'd  ask  what  was  I  doing  there, 
before  them  all ;  she  'd  think  I  was  listen- 
ing." 

"  Milly,  you  ought  to  know  there  is  no 
one  in  this  house  thinks  such  things  of  you 
as  that." 

"  She  does,"  said  Milly.  "  She  thought  I 
was  listening  that  time  in  the  dining-room. 
You  were  all  talking  so  loud  —  I  couldn't 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED          107 

help  it.  I  heard  her  say  she  was  my  enemy, 
and  so  she  is  !  I  would  n't  stay  here  if  I  had 
any  place  to  go  to." 

44  Child,  you  have  n't  an  enemy  in  this 
house.  Mrs.  Dansken  was  only  joking. 
Don't  you  know  her  way?  I  must  have  a 
little  talk  with  you  some  time,  but  not  now 
—  I  must  go  back  now,"  said  Frank,  dis- 
tracted at  the  possibility  of  a  relief  sent  out 
from  the  parlor  for  the  recovery  of  himself 
and  the  banjo,  and  forgetting  his  resolve  to 
face  whatever  contingency  might  arise  in  his 
championship  of  Milly. 

"  Is  anybody  keeping  you?  "  asked  Milly, 
bridling. 

"  Yes,  you  are  keeping  me  —  you  poor  — 
sweet  "  —  The  banjo  softly  boomed  against 
the  banister.  Milly  released  herself,  and 
Frank  was  left  alone  at  the  stairhead,  with 
the  astonishing  consciousness  upon  him  that 
he  had  just  kissed  Milly  Robinson.  He  was 
never  able  to  explain  to  himself  how  he  came 
to  do  so;  but  the  fact  remained,  and  also 
the  fact  that  he  must  return  to  the  parlor 
with  that  kiss  added  to  the  other  suppressed 
entries  in  his  account  with  Mrs.  Dansken. 
And  besides  his  account  with  Mrs.  Dan- 


108     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

sken,  there  was  his  account  with  Milly. 
How  is  a  young  man  to  make  a  girl,  who  is 
relegated  socially  to  a  sphere  below  his  own, 
believe  that  a  kiss,  given  in  secret  and  ac- 
companied by  words  of  endearment,  is 
merely  a  token  of  respectful  sympathy  ? 

For  several  days  he  thought  about  Milly 
continually,  seeking  opportunities  to  speak 
with  her,  and  shirking  them  when  they  came. 
Her  conscious  looks  alarmed  him.  He  had 
a  foreboding  that  he  should  get  himself  into 
further  trouble  if  he  recurred  to  that  meet- 
ing on  the  stairs  ;  yet  to  let  it  pass  without 
a  word  seemed  like  assuming  that  Milly  was 
accustomed  to  being  treated  in  that  way  and 
expected  no  apology. 

His  cheeks  burned  when  he  thought  of 
Mrs.  Dansken's  probable  comments  on  such 
a  situation ;  and  when  he  thought  of  his 
cousin,  the  girl  he  used  to  know  so  well,  but 
who  was  now  estranged  from  him  in  ways 
she  could  never  dream  of,  he  knew  it  was 
not  the  decrees  of  parents  that  had  put  that 
distance  between  them.  He  was  restless  and 
miserable.  The  attraction  of  his  thoughts  to 
Milly  increased  in  proportion  as  he  blamed 
himself  for  his  conduct  towards  her.  The 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          109 

idea  that  he  had  wronged  her,  and  that  he 
owed  her  some  reparation,  came  to  have  a 
charm  for  him.  He  dwelt  upon  it,  and  at 
last  came  the  inevitable  talk  with  Milly. 

There  was  more  than  one  talk  perhaps 
before  Frank  found  himself  in  a  position 
which  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  bring  his 
case  again  before  Mrs.  Dansken.  The  sub- 
mission of  Miss  Austen  was  a  trifle  to  this, 
he  knew;  and  his  heart  was  thumping  as  he 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  little  sanctum 
where  judgment  awaited  him.  He  took  a 
long  breath,  and  went  in. 

It  was  about  a  week  before  the  evening  of 
the  next  Assembly  Ball.  Mrs.  Dansken  was 
preparing  a  dress  for  the  occasion,  out  of 
material  furnished  by  one  that  she  had  laid 
aside  some  years  before  as  "too  young." 
Her  Leadville  season  had  been  so  reassuring 
that  she  had  been  led,  urged  by  economical 
reasons  as  well,  to  reconsider  certain  reso- 
lutions as  to  colors  and  styles.  The  woman 
who  hesitates  on  a  point  so  delicate  as  this 
is  usually  the  better  for  a  little  unprejudiced 
advice  from  some  near  member  of  her  own 
family.  There  was  no  such  person  to  come 
to  Mrs.  Dansken's  assistance  ;  the  dim,  side 


110     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

light  upon  her  mirror  was  delusive  ;  she  was 
actually  embarked  upon  the  venture  of  a 
Nile-green  silk,  and  was  ripping  the  breadths 
of  the  train  when  Frank  came  with  his 
troubles  to  her  door. 

She  blushed  a  little  over  her  finery  as  she 
admitted  him,  but  he  was  much  too  self-ab- 
sorbed to  have  known  whether  she  were  mak- 
ing a  ball-dress  or  a  shroud.  She  wondered 
what  the  young  man  could  have  upon  his 
mind  now.  Could  he  have  had  bad  news 
from  home? — had  the  family  relented,  as 
she  had  freely  assured  him  they  were  certain 
to  do  ?  He  did  not  look  particularly  happy. 

"  Are  you  very  busy  ?  "  he  began,  frown- 
ing absently  at  the  gay  disorder  about  him. 
"  There  's  a  little  thing  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  about." 

It  is  not  a  little  thing,  Mrs.  Dansken  con- 
cluded, as  she  looked  at  him ;  but  she  smiled 
encouragingly,  and  deposited  her  lapful  of 
silks  upon  the  sofa. 

His  eyes  followed  her  anxiously  about  the 
room.  "  It 's  the  forbidden  topic,  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken ;  but  you  said  you  would  trust  me  — 
about  Milly,  you  know  —  and  of  course  that 
puts  me  on  my  honor." 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         Ill 

Frank  found  it  difficult  to  say  these  words. 
Some  of  us  may  know  the  impulse  of  self- 
mortification  that  impelled  him  to  urge  them 
upon  himself,  and  he  had  his  intentions  to 
support  him. 

"  It 's  not  her  education  this  time ;  it 's 
her  amusements.  She  has  n't  any,  you 
know,"  he  added,  as  Mrs.  Dansken  did  not 
speak. 

"Hasn't  she?"  said  Mrs.  Dansken, 
curtly.  "  I  'm  very  sorry,  but  I  did  not 
promise  to  amuse  my  waitress  when  I  en- 
gaged her." 

"  You  did  not  promise  to  amuse  your 
boarders,  but  you  have  done  much  more  for 
us  than  feed  and  shelter  us." 

Mrs.  Dansken  flushed.  No  woman  likes 
to  be  reminded  by  a  man  that  she  has  been 
kinder  to  him  perhaps  than  was  necessary. 

"  Then  be  modest  about  your  privileges," 
she  said,  "  and  don't  be  trying  to  instruct 
me  in  my  duty  to  others." 

"  I  had  no  such  idea,  Mrs.  Dansken  ;  I 
ask  only  your  permission  —  I  want  to  give 
Milly  a  good  time,  myself.  Just  one  good 
time,  such  as  any  other  girl  might  have." 

Mrs.  Dansken  sighed.    "  How  do  you  pro- 


112     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

pose  to  give  it  to  her  —  from  your  superior 
station  above  her?  In  that  case  I  don't 
think  she  will  enjoy  herself." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  don't  mean  to  be 
superior.  It 's  going  to  be  partly  my  good 
time." 

"  It 's  going  to  be,  is  it  ?  Then  why  do 
you  come  to  me  ?  " 

"  You  know  why,  Mrs.  Dansken." 

"  But  you  have  already  smashed  our  con- 
tract all  to  pieces." 

"  You  absolved  us  from  that  first  contract. 
You  said  I  should  do  as  I  pleased,"  said 
Frank. 

"  It  seems  you  have  done  as  you  pleased. 
Now  if  you  will  tell  me  what  you  have 
done"  — 

"  You  make  it  very  difficult.  If  I  tell  you 
why  I  wish  to  do  this,  you  will  say  I  am  in- 
structing you." 

"  You  need  not  tell  me  all  the  whys.  I 
want  to  know  what  you  have  been  about." 

"  I  have  asked  Milly  to  go  with  me  to  the 
Assembly,  Friday  night." 

"  Then  all  I  have  to  say  is,  you  have  made 
a  precious  fool  of  yourself  !  "  But  this  was 
not  all  she  had  to  say,  by  any  means  ;  for 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          113 

directly  she  added  more  gently,  feeling  that 
she  had  lost  ground  at  the  outset  in  los- 
ing her  temper,  "Frank,  it  is  simple  mad- 
ness." 

"  But  listen  to  me,  Mrs.  Dansken.  Here 
is  a  young  girl  who  goes  nowhere  "  — 

"  She  has  every  Wednesday  afternoon  to 
go  where  she  pleases,"  Mrs.  Dansken  inter- 
jected. 

"But  the  fact  is,  she  goes  nowhere. 
Where  could  she  go,  in  a  place  like  this, 
with  no  friends  ?  " 

"  Is  it  my  fault  that  she  has  been  here 
nearly  a  year  and  has  n't  a  friend  in  the 
place?" 

"  It  may  not  be  her  fault  either." 

44  It 's  not  my  fault  and  it 's  not  my  busi- 
ness ;  still  less  yours,  Frank  Embury !  I 
don't  say  I  have  done  my  perfect  duty  by 
Milly  ;  I  'm  not  perfect  in  any  capacity ;  but 
as  to  your  duty,  there  is  n't  the  slightest 
question.  From  this  moment  you  are  to 
leave  that  girl  alone  !  " 

Frank  looked  the  anger  he  felt.  Mrs. 
Dansken  could  not  know  what  had  led  to 
his  inviting  Milly  to  the  ball ;  her  unmiti- 
gated view  of  it  only  made  him  feel  prouder 


114     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

and  more  apart  from  all  such  poor,  low  con- 
structions. But,  for  Milly's  sake,  he  must 
temporize.  He  knew  he  could  not  afford  to 
dispense  with  the  countenance  of  an  older 
woman  for  the  girl  he  sought  to  distinguish. 
So  he  shut  down  upon  his  wrath  and  pleaded 
with  all  the  ingenuity  he  was  master  of,  and 
with  all  the  power  of  his  charming  looks  — 
never  more  needed  nor  in  a  more  unhappy 
cause. 

"  Let  us  talk  it  over  in  the  abstract,  for 
the  sake  of  the  humanities  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  fiddlesticks !  I  don't 
wish  to  hear  any  more  of  this  missionary 
talk.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  if  Milly 
Robinson  was  not  a  stunning-looking  girl 
you  wouldn't  be  seen  with  her  at  the  As- 
sembly. But  don't  you  see,  Frank,  —  of 
course  you  see,  —  that  only  makes  it  the 
worse  for  her  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dansken  too  was  condescending  to 
plead,  from  the  force  of  her  alarm  for  Em- 
bury. It  was  the  soft-hearted,  headstrong 
boy  she  feared  for,  not  the  girl,  with  her 
curious,  passive  force,  that  drew  to  her 
everything  that  she  wanted,  without  an  ef- 
fort of  her  own.  She  had  not  the  least 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         115 

anxiety  for  Milly;  but  she  knew  that  she 
could  only  reach  Milly's  champion  through 
the  girl  he  was  crazily  befriending. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  things  that  cannot  be 
done,  Frank,"  she  patiently  explained;  "be- 
cause when  it  is  done  it  cannot  be  undone. 
Nothing  can  ever  be  as  it  was  before,  be- 
tween you  and  Milly,  after  you  have  had  one 
dance  together.  And  what  is  to  come  next  ? 
How  do  you  propose  to  get  back  into  real 
life  after  this  masquerade  ?  " 

Some  access  of  excitement  altered  the  ex- 
pression of  Embury's  face.  His  brilliant 
eyes  looked  away  from  the  cogent  common 
sense  of  Mrs.  Dansken's  argument.  She 
was  not  sure  that  she  had  touched  the  right 
string,  but  she  kept  on,  striking  more  or  less 
at  random.  "  And  how  do  you  propose  to 
ask  her  ?  If  you  ask  her  as  a  young  lady, 
she  must  have  a  chaperone  ;  if  you  ask  her 
as  my  servant,  she  must  come  to  me  for  per- 
mission to  go,  and  I  shall  certainly  refuse." 

"  But  tell  me  why,  Mrs.  Dansken.  Is  it 
truly  for  Milly's  sake,  or  is  it  that  theory  of 
yours  that  we  are  all  in  danger  of  spoiling 
our  little  futures  ?  " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  reasons  before  we 


116     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

come  to  your  future.  There  are  the  rules  of 
the  Assembly,  after  you  have  demoralized  all 
my  rules.  Every  gentleman  is  allowed  to 
ask  two  ladies  —  not  two  persons  the  other 
members  may  not  care  to  meet." 

Frank  made  a  movement  of  impatience. 

"  Don't  listen  to  my  words ;  listen  to  my 
meaning.  I  can't  stop  to  choose  my  words. 
Now  /  'd  just  as  soon  dance  with  Milly,  or 
with  Ann  either,  as  to  wipe  dishes  or  make 
beds  with  them ;  but  I  've  no  business  to 
make  it  awkward  for  the  others.  You  '11 
find  the  St.  Louis  ladies  are  particular  whom 
they  dance  with.  I  'm  hardly  up  to  the  mark 
myself.  The  woman  who  works  for  her  liv- 
ing must  expect  to  rank  below  the  woman 
who  has  got  a  husband  to  work  for  her." 

"  Why  do  you  say  those  things  ?  You 
know  they  are  not  true." 

"  They  are  perfectly  true.  I  have  n't 
enough  prestige  to  make  Milly  go  down  with 
the  others,  if  I  were  to  try.  I  might  take 
her  to  the  Assembly  under  my  wing  and 
say,  4  Here  is  a  nice  little  girl  who  does  my 
chamber  work.  I  've  brought  her  to  have  a 
good  time,  because  she  has  nowhere  else  to 
go.'  Do  you  think  they  would  help  her  to 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          117 

enjoy  herself  ?  She  would  be  the  stray 
chicken  in  the  hen-yard ;  they  'd  peck  her 
all  to  pieces.  And  there  is  sense  in  it  too. 
You  can  easily  see,  if  each  one  of  you  is  al- 
lowed to  use  his  private  judgment  as  to  what 
constitutes  a  lady,  in  the  sense  of  a  partner, 
why  there  are  other  young  persons  in  the 
place  —  you  must  see  I  'm  not  narrow  about 
this.  It  is  simply  one  of  the  things  all  the 
world  knows  is  impossible.  Milly  is  all 
right  as  she  is ;  she  is  n't  having  a  very  good 
time,  but  it  is  only  six  months  since  her 
brother  died  "  — 

"  Ten  months,"  Frank  corrected. 

"  And  she  is  saving  money  to  go  to  her 
friends,  and  they  are  the  ones  to  look  after 
her.  She  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  amuse 
herself  after  she  is  done  with  this  place. 
But  take  her  and  set  her  up  in  a  position 
that  antagonizes  everybody  —  why,  she  '11  be 
attacked  right  and  left.  This  is  what  would 
happen  if  I  undertook  to  set  her  up  ;  but  if 
you  should  try  it,  Frank  Embury,  she  will 
be  lost.  And  whatever  comes  of  it  you  will 
have  to  gee  her  through." 

"  I  intend  to  see  her  through.  I  have 
asked  her  as  I  would  ask  any  girl,  and  I  shall 


118  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

not  insult  her  by  backing  out,  on  account  of 
the  sneers  of  the  women.  There  's  no  sense, 
nor  justice,  nor  kindness  in  it." 

"  Justice  and  kindness  you  '11  find  are  lux- 
uries, my  child.  Minding  one's  own  affairs 
is  the  main  business  of  life  —  and  paying 
one's  debts,  and  keeping  one's  promises." 

Embury  was  hard  hit  this  time,  but  he 
was  past  wincing. 

"Just  to  show  you,  Frank,  how  these 
things  work :  I  'm  not  in  the  least  angry 
with  you,  who  really  deserve  it,  but  I  have 
lost  every  bit  of  faith  I  ever  had  in  that 
girl." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  has  she  done  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  perhaps  ;  but  I  feel  it  is  her 
fault,  all  the  same.  It 's  the  fatal  twist  in 
the  situation.  You  '11  find  it  will  meet  you 
at  every  turn." 

"  Suppose  she  refuses  to  go.  How  will 
the  situation  strike  you  then  ?  " 

"  Has  she  refused  ?  " 

"  She  has  n't  accepted." 

"  Oh,  she  means  to  go.  If  she  did  n't, 
she  would  have  told  you.  It  was  really  very 
clever  of  her  to  reserve  her  answer." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  call  it  clever.     I 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         119 

thought  it  rather  a  pitiful  acknowledgment 
that  she  was  not  her  own  mistress." 

"  Is  that  what  she  said  ?  " 

"  She  said  nothing." 

"  Ah,  she  has  a  talent  for  saying  nothing. 
She  is  a  very  deep  young  person.  Her 
friends,  if  she  has  any,  are  not  anxious  about 
her,  I  think ;  she  has  not  received  a  letter 
since  she  came." 

"  Do  you  bring  that  up  against  her  ?  " 

"  I  '11  bring  up  anything  against  her  I  can 
possibly  think  of,  to  keep  you  out  of  this 
mess  you  are  getting  yourself  into.  It  will 
all  come  upon  her  in  the  end.  If  you  had 
picked  out  the  right  girl,  —  any  girl  who 
was  possible,  —  we  should  all  be  only  too 
glad  to  give  her  our  blessing.  We  should  be 
enchanted  with  a  real  young  girl,  an  ingenue, 
in  the  camp  at  last.  But  she  must  be  the 
genuine  thing.  We  are  not  going  to  be  im- 
posed upon.  Women  are  always  the  judges 
of  women,  and  men  who  have  any  sense 
accept  their  judgment.  They  scold  and 
they  sneer  at  us,  but  they  expect  us  to  keep 
society  in  order,  while  they  do  as  they  please 
outside." 

Mrs.  Dansken's  philosophy  was  often  un- 


120     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

pleasant  to  Frank,  but  in  his  present  temper 
it  was  revolting. 

"  This  may  be  true,  Mrs.  Dansken,  but  I 
don't  see  how  it  applies  to  Milly  Robinson. 
Is  there  anything  in  her  appearance  that 
would  not  do  for  an  ingenue  ?  " 

"  Her  appearance  is  the  whole  trouble." 

"Or  her  story?" 

"  Oh,  her  story !  What  do  I  know  — it  's 
her  story.  I  traced  it  as  far  as  "  — 

"  Mrs.  Dansken,  I  swear  I  cannot  stand 
this ! " 

"Of  course  you  can't.  You  are  young 
Romance,  with  a  touch  of  modern  philan- 
thropy, and  I  am  middle-aged  Common 
Sense,  without  any  philanthropy  at  all ;  but 
it  's  Milly  who  is  going  to  be  the  victim." 

Mrs.  Dansken  did  not  believe  that  Milly 
would  be  the  victim,  but  she  thought  it  well 
to  say  so.  "  But  what  nonsense  this  is ! 
To  put  it  plainly,  one  of  my  boarders  has 
been  meddling  with  one  of  my  servants." 

It  was  the  fate  of  this  facile  talker  often 
to  say  the  word  too  much,  and  to  make  it 
the  word  that  stings. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  Mrs. 
Dansken,"  Frank  began,  in  a  tone  of  lofty 
forbearance. 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          121 

"  I  've  been  very  fond  of  you,  but  you 
need  n't  spare  me  on  that  account.  Be  as 
furious  with  me  as  you  like,  but  let  that  girl 
alone.  Promise  me  you  will,  Frank.  You 
can't  think  how  serious  I  am.  I  have  a 
hard  way  of  putting  things,  I  know,  but  I 
am  frightened  for  you  both.  It  is  n't  possi- 
ble you  can  be  so  innocent  as  not  to  see  what 
I  mean." 

"  Mrs.  Dansken,  I  suppose  you  know  we 
fellows  all  have  our  record  here  in  the  camp. 
We  are  pretty  well  known  for  what  we  are. 
Well,  I  'm  not  ashamed  of  my  record.  If 
I  take  a  girl  to  a  dance  where  there  are  la- 
dies it  will  be  because  she  is  a  nice  girl,  and 
she  will  be  none  the  worse,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  men  at  least,  for  any  little  attention  I 
may  show  her." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  it  's  too  pathetic  to  hear 
you  talk  !  You  are  a  lamb  —  a  pair  of  lambs 
if  you  will  —  going  to  the  sacrifice.  It  's 
perfectly  idiotic,  but  it  is  the  pitifulest 
thing  I  ever  heard  of.  And  I  have  got  to 
stand  by  and  see  it  done !  Look  here, 
Frank,"  she  continued,  with  a  change  of 
tone,  seeing  that  he  was  unmoved.  "  You 
say  Milly  has  not  told  you  yet  if  she  means 


122     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

to  go.  If  she  does  go,  if  she  accepts,  I  shall 
know  how  to  place  her.  She  has  no  illu- 
sions, you  may  be  sure,  as  to  how  she  will 
be  received.  If  she  goes  to  that  ball  with 
you,  she  deserves  whatever  she  may  get." 

In  the  upper  hall,  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken  found  Frank  standing  by  the  frosty 
window,  a  figure  of  expectation  or  of  de- 
spondency, she  wondered  which. 

"  Will  you  listen  to  one  word  more  ? " 
she  ventured. 

"  As  many  as  you  like,"  said  Frank,  so 
civilly  that  she  knew  his  impatience  had 
cooled  into  resentment. 

"  If  you  will  let  me,  I  will  speak  to  Milly ; 
kindly,  gently  as  I  know  how.  I  will  tell 
her  you  have  spoken  to  me  about  her  going, 
and  that  I  have  discouraged  it  for  her  own 
sake." 

Frank  smiled  his  disbelief  in  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken's  influence  with  Milly  —  the  girl  for 
whom  she  had  confessed  she  entertained  an 
aversion. 

Mrs.  Dansken  felt  the  smile  and  the  impli- 
cation keenly.  "  That  will  let  you  out,"  she 
continued  —  but  now  she  had  lost  faith  in 
this  her  last  appeal ;  "  and  if  I  can't  make 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          123 

her  see  what  a  mistake  it  would  be  for  her, 
it  will  be  because  she  does  not  wish  to  see. 
If  she  is  the  nice  girl  we  hope  she  is,  wild 
horses  could  not  drag  her  there  ;  and  if  she 
is  n't,  —  if  she  is  a  brazen,  pushing  thing, 
—  surely,  Frank,  you  cannot  wish  to  take 
her  !  If  you  had  the  record  of  an  angel  you 
could  n't  carry  it  through." 

Frank  was  himself  anxious  as  to  what  he 
was  doing,  and  how  it  was  going  to  end.  He 
would  not  for  pride's  sake  have  had  Mrs. 
Dansken  know  how,  purely  by  accident,  as  it 
seemed,  and  without  the  least  intending  it, 
he  had  got  so  far  on  this  path  of  perilous 
kindness.  If  a  happier  word  could  have 
been  spoken  it  might  have  helped  him  in 
this  moment  of  indecision.  But  the  slip 
could  not  be  recalled  —  the  allusion  to  his 
boasted  record,  the  intimation  that  he  de- 
sired his  release,  and  the  epithets  awaiting 
Milly's  decision. 

Is  there  any  better  thing  that  breeding 
can  do  for  us  than  to  develop  our  sympa- 
thies, so  surely  and  on  such  fine  lines  of  di- 
vine instinct,  that  we  cannot  make  mistakes 
in  these  delicate  dealings  with  those  whom 
we  are  brought  into  relations  with?  The 


THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

habit  of  thinking  kindly,  the  quality  of  gen- 
tleness and  precision  in  speech,  are  trifles 
perhaps,  but  trifles  are  occasionally  decisive 
—  since  it  is  not  enough  to  be  in  the  right, 
and  to  have  stern  common  sense  on  our  side, 
when  it  comes  to  influencing  passionate  and 
stubborn  young  hearts  in  moments  of  pre- 
cipitation. 

Frank  hardened  his  heart,  and  Mrs.  Dan- 
skeii  hardened  her  own  ;  and  as  she  hard- 
ened she  lapsed  into  coarseness  as  well. 

"  I  believe  you  are  bent  upon  nothing  but 
your  own  selfish  pleasure  and  your  triumph 
over  the  other  men." 

Frank  turned  and  went  into  his  room  and 
shut  the  door  in  her  face.  He  did  not  ap- 
pear at  dinner,  nor  in  the  parlor  until  late 
that  evening,  and  then  he  came  in  looking 
cold  and  pale,  but  refusing  a  seat  by  the  fire 
and  taking  a  book  so  far  from  the  light  that 
he  could  not  possibly  have  been  able  to 
read  it. 

Mrs.  Dansken  had  been  mentally  prefig- 
uring a  scene  there  was  little  likelihood  of 
her  having  a  chance  to  enact,  or  of  wishing 
to  do  so  should  the  chance  present  itself. 
But  here  was  the  opportunity,  and  here  was 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.          125 

the  audience,  without  which  a  dramatic  pre- 
sentation would  fail  of  its  effect.  Her  im- 
aginary climax  suddenly  took  possession  of 
her,  with  all  the  force  of  a  calculated  decis- 
ion. There  sat  the  foolish  fellow  she  had 
flattered  with  her  confidence,  who  had  given 
her  his  in  return,  who  had  made  her  believe, 
unbeliever  as  she  was,  in  the  sincerity  of  his 
pure,  young  grief.  She  knew  the  force  of 
her  arguments  better  than  the  quality  of  her 
words ;  nothing,  she  believed,  could  have 
withstood  them  but  a  deliberate  courting  of 
consequences. 

She  spoke  up  in  her  ringing  voice  and  in 
a  strain  of  high  sarcasm,  informing  upon 
the  culprit  who  had  stolen  a  march  upon 
them  all  and  made  good  his  intentions  before 
declaring  them.  But  as  her  voice  began  to 
shake  she  abandoned  sarcasm  for  a  plain 
statement  of  the  case,  in  a  silence  that  gave 
to  her  words  the  force  of  a  tribal  judgment. 

"  You  know  we  agreed,  about  Milly  Rob- 
inson, that  if  any  of  you  fellows  found  he 
could  n't  keep  faith  with  me,  he  was  to  let 
me  know ;  and  if  he  broke  his  word  in- 
nocently, and  it  came  to  be  found  out,  he 
was  to  have  warning."  As  Mrs.  Dansken 


126     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

recapitulated  the  terms  of  that  famous 
agreement,  it  sounded  very  silly  and  unreal, 
like  child's  play — like  vulgar  child's  play; 
but  there  was  no  amusement  in  the  faces  set 
towards  her  own. 

She  was  white  with  despair  at  the  thing 
she  was  doing.  "  And  if  he  persisted,  after 
he  was  warned,"  she  went  on,  "  we  said,  you 
know,  that  he  was  to  be  '  fired  out.' '  She 
laughed  weakly,  but  the  laugh  was  all  her 
own.  In  the  silence  of  these  grave  faces  it 
had  the  effect  of  a  sob.  "  But  what  shall 
be  done,"  she  went  on,  "  with  one  who  was 
released  from  all  his  promises  because  I  was 
ashamed  to  let  him  promise  anything,  I 
trusted  him  so  ?  He  said  himself  he  was 
upon  his  honor ;  and  he  asks  me  now  if  he 
may  take  my  waitress  to  the  Assembly  and 
if  I  will  introduce  her." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Dansken ;  I  never  asked  you 
that.  The  girl  I  take  to  the  Assembly  shall 
need  no  introduction  more  than  you  do  your- 
self. And  you  may  consider  my  room  va- 
cant, if  you  please,  after  to-morrow." 

"  Is  this  to  punish  me  ?  "  she  asked,  rather 
wildly  —  "a  pecuniary  punishment,  for  a 
mercenary  woman  who  was  once  your  friend, 
Mr.  Embury." 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         127 

Frank  was  at  the  door.  He  looked  at 
her  in  utter  amazement,  made  her  a  bow, 
and  left  the  room. 


iv. 

MILLY  had  said  nothing  to  her  mistress, 
and  Mrs.  Dansken  was  still  in  doubt  as  to 
the  girl's  intentions,  when  Frank,  the  next 
morning,  was  moving  out  of  the  house. 

The  late  friends  did  not  refuse  to 
"  speak."  That  would  have  been  too  child- 
ish ;  and  there  were  practical  topics  on 
which  silence  would  have  been  inconvenient, 
not  to  say  ridiculous,  as  it  would  have  called 
for  the  intervention  of  a  third  party ;  but 
they  were  brief  and  sadly  cold  with  each 
other. 

Mrs.  Dansken  hung  about  on  various  pre- 
texts while  the  packing  was  going  on,  feel- 
ing that  she  had  been  extreme,  and  hoping 
the  boy  would  relent.  Middle  age  is  often 
hard,  but  it  is  not  so  hard  as  youth,  when  it 
comes  to  a  collision. 

Frank  was  taking  down  his  pipe-rack 
from  the  space  it  had  decorated  on  the  par- 


128     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

lor  wall,  and  the  pipes  were  hanging  at  all 
sorts  of  critical  angles,  while  his  eyes  sought 
a  place  to  rest  the  rack  upon. 

Mrs.  Dansken  suffered  a  little  heart-break 
at  the  sight  of  each  bare  space  where  one  of 
his  "  things  "  had  been.  He  was  a  young 
fellow  possessed  of  many  "things,"  not 
always  kept  in  the  most  perfect  order,  which 
borrowed  very  quickly  a  suggestion  of  his 
own  personality.  Mrs.  Dansken  could  tell 
his  belongings  without  looking  at  them,  his 
books  and  odd  gloves  and  silk  mufflers,  when 
she  picked  them  up  about  the  house.  His 
hats  were  a  portrait  of  him,  his  old  slippers 
would  have  been  a  sort  of  fetish  to  one  who 
held  him  dear.  In  his  sweetly  imperious 
way  he  had  required  a  good  deal  of  wait- 
ing upon ;  he  would  be  missed  when  he  left 
the  house,  Mrs.  Dansken  knew,  but  not  for 
the  trouble  he  had  made.  More  and  more 
she  felt  how  lovable,  how  human,  he  was, 
how  helplessly  drawn  towards  humanness  in 
others ;  and  as  the  time  for  his  departure 
came  and  she  marked  his  excitement,  that 
was  not  all  triumph,  she  was  more  sure  than 
ever  that  some  occult  reason  lay  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  lunacy. 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         129 

There  was  never  an  emptier  place  than 
Frank's  at  dinner  that  evening.  The  house- 
hold to  a  man  were  on  the  side  of  the  offen- 
der. Mrs.  Danskeii  felt  that  she  was  in 
disgrace  at  the  head  of  her  own  table.  It 
was  so  like  men,  as  she  said  to  herself  —  or, 
rather,  it  was  so  like  boys  ;  and  unhappy  as 
she  was,  she  found  some  comfort  in  the  char- 
acteristic unfairness  of  the  situation. 

But  she  did  not  greatly  care ;  her  dream 
of  leadership  had  vanished.  She  wished  for 
her  sensible  old  ally,  Hugh  Williams,  that 
she  might  take  counsel  with  him,  and  be 
scolded  by  him,  as  usual.  He  had  gone, 
three  days  before,  to  one  of  the  new  camps 
to  examine  a  mine,  and  would  not  be  back 
until  Friday.  She  sat  down  that  evening 
and  wrote  him  a  long  letter,  setting  her 
anxieties  before  him.  A  reply  would  be  im- 
possible, but  she  trusted  he  might  get  her 
news  in  time  to  hurry  home  and  use  his  in- 
fluence with  his  friend. 

Frank  had  begun  to  realize  for  what 
stakes  he  was  playing,  with  the  pretty  part- 
ner whom  fate  and  his  own  rashness  had  set 
before  him.  The  silly  counters  had  been 
removed,  and  in  their  place  were  risks  he 


130     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

could  not  pretend  to  ignore.  But  the  ex- 
citement of  the  game  had  gone  to  his  head. 

He  was  obliged  to  take  his  departure  with- 
out seeing  Milly,  owing,  he  believed,  to  Mrs. 
Dansken's  diplomacy ;  but  it  was  the  girl 
herself  who  had  quietly  defeated  his  efforts 
to  speak  to  her  and  to  get  her  answer.  He 
knew  her  list  of  outside  errands,  and  the 
time  of  her  comings  and  goings.  On  Mon- 
day and  Thursday  evenings  she  went  to  the 
Tent  Bakery  to  fetch  a  certain  kind  of 
breakfast-roll  promulgated  on  those  days. 
The  bakery  was  at  the  extreme  end  of  Har- 
rison Avenue,  on  the  same  side  as  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken's, close  to  the  new  bridge  that  was  then 
being  built  across  the  hydraulic  ditch.  It  was 
not  half-past  five  o'clock,  but  the  workmen 
had  left  the  bridge  ;  Frank  did  not  know  for 
what  reason,  but  he  mentally  noted  the  de- 
serted look  of  the  place. 

At  the  hour  which  had  been  the  gayest 
and  happiest  in  the  landlady's  parlor  Frank 
took  his  station  on  the  bridge  and  watched 
for  Milly.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  before 
he  saw  her  coming.  She  had  a  brown  veil 
bound  tightly  over  her  hat ;  he  would  have 
liked  to  see  her  face,  and  her  beautiful  pure 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         131 

color  in  the  winter  cold,  yet  the  veil  was 
well.  He  caught  the  rich  burnish  of  her 
low-knotted  hair  as  she  whisked  into  the 
bakery.  The  bakery  was  crowded;  it  was 
a  long  time  before  she  came  out.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  was  at  her  side.  She  seemed  not 
much  surprised  to  see  him.  He  took  her 
warm  parcel  from  her,  and  asked  her,  in  a 
tone  of  command,  to  go  back  with  him  to 
the  bridge.  He  marched  off  with  the  bun- 
dle of  rolls  and  she  followed  him. 

"How  late  is  it?"  she  inquired  as  they 
reached  the  bridge. 

"  It  is  n't  half-past  five,"  said  Frank  with- 
out consulting  his  watch. 

"  Won't  you  look,  please  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  necessary.  I  want  only  five 
minutes,  Milly,  for  your  answer.  You  are 
going  with  me  Friday  night  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  said  I  'd  go." 

"  But  you  mean  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  could  n't  go,  any  way  at  all.  You 
ought  to  know  that,  Mr.  Embury." 

"  And  is  this  all  you  have  to  say  to  me, 
Milly?" 

Apparently  it  was,  for  Milly  was  silent. 
Frank  felt  that  he  would  like  to  take  her 


132     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

by  her  pretty  shoulders  and  shake  her,  just 
to  wake  her  up,  now  that  matters  had  come 
to  a  crisis.  "Milly  —  oh,  do  take  off  that 
veil !  How  can  a  man  talk  to  a  brown  veil  ?  " 

Milly's  lips  closed  on  a  little  fold  of  the 
veil,  and  then  expanded.  She  did  not  wish 
to  smile,  but  she  could  not  help  it.  These 
new,  peremptory  ways  of  his  were  even  more 
fascinating  to  her  trampled  vanity  than  his 
humilities  and  explanations  had  been. 

"  I  know  your  cheeks  are  the  color  of  that 
light  on  the  mountains,"  he  went  on  with 
wild  irrelevancy.  "Oh,  if  you  would  look 
at  me,  Milly !  "  This  was  undisguised  love- 
making,  Frank  knew  well ;  and  making  love, 
even  to  a  brown  veil,  and  with  a  bundle  of 
rolls  warming  the  inside  of  his  arm,  came 
easy  to  his  temperament.  (There  could  be 
no  question  as  to  the  angle  of  his  nose, 
which  M.  Coquelin  considers  decisive  in  this 
role.)  The  boyish  reckless  side  of  his  na- 
ture had  now  got  the  upper  hand  of  him ;  he 
considered  that  he  had  paid  the  price  of  his 
escapade,  and  he  would  not  now  be  balked 
of  whatever  excitement  there  might  be  in  it. 

"  Come  over  the  bridge  a  little  way, 
Milly.  See,  here  is  the  plank." 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         133 

"  I  've  got  to  get  home,  Mr.  Embury  ;  and 
I  could  n't  go  to  the  ball,  not  if  you  were  to 
keep  me  here  all  night." 

"  Oh,  stop  that  eternal  Mr.  Embury ! 
Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  so  before  ?  " 

Milly  did  not  answer.  "  You  said  noth- 
ing. I  thought  of  course  you  meant  to  go. 
You  have  cheated  me,  Milly." 

"  You  are  so  quick  —  I  can't  ever  talk  to 
you." 

"  I  am  quick  because  you  are  so  slow. 
But  I  like  your  slowness ;  it  's  sweet,  if 
you  '11  only  give  me  what  you  make  me  wait 
for.  I  consider  that  you  have  as  good  as 
promised ;  I  shall  hold  you  to  it." 

"  Not  if  it  lost  me  my  place  ?  " 

"  You  will  not  lose  your  place.  Mrs. 
Dansken  told  me  herself  that  she  could  n't 
get  on  without  you."  Frank  gave  this  infor- 
mation unhesitatingly,  regardless  of  the  way 
in  which  he  had  gained  it. 

"  She  never  told  me  that  much,"  said 
Milly.  "  She  would  n't  give  me  the  satisfac- 
tion. I  'd  like  to  go,  if  it  was  only  to  show 
her  I  'm  not  the  dirt  under  her  feet." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  for  that ;  but  to  dance  with 
me.  You  need  not  mind  Mrs.  Dansken,  or 
any  of  the  women." 


134     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  I  can't  go,  and  I  never  meant  to  go,  Mr. 
Embury,  whatever  you  may  think.  I  've  got 
my  reasons." 

Frank  hesitated,  thinking  of  the  brother 
with  whose  memory  Milly  might  be  shyly 
keeping  faith,  through  all  his  obtrusive  blan- 
dishments. He  felt  rebuked  and  drew  away 
from  her,  out  of  respect  for  the  modest 
grief  he  had  been  wounding. 

"  Could  n't  you  tell  me  what  the  trouble 
is  ?  I  did  n't  mean  to  tease  you,  but  I  did 
want  you  to  have  this  one  good  time." 

"  It  's  my  clothes,"  said  Milly,  reluc- 
tantly. "  I  've  got  nothing  I  'd  look  fit  to 
be  seen  in." 

Frank  laughed.  His  respectful  mental 
distance  from  Milly  instantly  decreased, 
and  he  said  gayly,  "  Oh,  we  '11  fix  that  all 
right,  if  that  's  all." 

"  But  Mrs.  Dansken  's  got  all  my  wages 
for  two  months  back,  and  I  won't  go  to  her 
—  not  for  a  penny  !  " 

"  Of  course  not.  I  will  send  you  a  dress, 
Milly.  I  can't  send  you  a  bouquet,  because 
there  are  no  flowers  to  be  had ;  but  you  shall 
have  the  prettiest  dress  in  Leadville,  and  it 
won't  cost  more  than  the  flowers  a  girl  car- 


THE  SITUATION  DEVELOPED.         135 

ries  sometimes  to  a  party  in  New  York.  I 
speak  of  it  so  you  won't  mind  taking  it." 

"  I  could  n't  take  it  from  you,  Mr.  Em- 
bury. She  'd  know  I  never  bought  it." 

"  Milly,  you  are  in  the  cruelest  position  that 
ever  a  girl  was  in  in  this  world,  and  I  intend 
to  set  you  right,  to  put  you  where  you  be- 
long. Who  are  they,  I  should  like  to  know, 
setting  up  to  tell  us  whom  we  shall  dance 
with !  A  man  dances  with  the  girl  he  chooses, 
as  a  general  thing.  I  have  chosen  you, 
dress  or  no  dress.  But  we  will  see  about 
the  dress.  I  shall  be  here  Thursday,  at  the 
same  time.  I  shall  expect  you.  Now  run 
home  with  your  parcel ! " 

Frank  had  got  to  the  point  of  believing 
that  the  Old  World  and  all  its  traditions 
were  wrong,  since  otherwise  he,  in  his  pres- 
ent undertaking,  could  not  be  right.  He  even 
persuaded  himself  that  it  was  a  romantic  and 
touching  thing  that  he  should  be  clothing 
his  partner  out  of  his  own  pocket  for  the 
dance.  He  went  about  his  purchase  with 
shy  ardor,  wishing  that  he  had  studied  the 
details  of  a  girl's  evening  costume  more 
thoroughly  ;  for  he  was  resolved  that  noth- 
ing should  be  wanting  to  complete  Milly's 
triumph,  and  his  own. 


PART  III. 

THE  CATASTROPHE. 
I. 

AT  ten  o'clock  on  Thursday  morning  Mrs. 
Dansken  answered  a  knock  at  her  front  door 
and  found  there  a  man,  whom  she  recog- 
nized as  one  of  the  waiters  from  the  Claren- 
don, who  presented  her  with  a  box  addressed 
to  Miss  M.  Robinson.  It  was  a  large,  flat, 
white  box  such  as  tailors  and  dressmakers 
send  home  their  wares  in.  There  were  no 
wrappings  or  bills  of  expressage  on  it ;  evi- 
dently it  had  not  traveled  far.  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken asked  the  man  if  there  was  no  message 
with  the  box.  He  said  he  did  not  know  of 
any,  and  Mrs.  Dansken  refrained  from  the 
question  who  had  sent  him. 

Now  if  Milly  Robinson  had  been  like  any 
other  girl,  Mrs.  Dansken  meditated,  she 
would  have  been  in  a  flutter  over  that  box ; 
would  have  wondered  who  had  sent  it  and 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  137 

what  was  in  it,  and  have  opened  it  at  once, 
for  all  to  admire.  Instead,  she  had  packed 
it  off,  without  any  excitement  at  all,  to  her 
bedroom  in  the  attic,  and  no  more  had  been 
heard  of  it. 

Ann  had  made  tea-cake  and  there  was  no 
need  for  Milly  to  go  for  rolls  that  afternoon. 
At  her  usual  time  of  coming  down,  after 
changing  her  dress,  to  lay  out  the  tea-things 
in  the  parlor  and  set  the  table  for  dinner, 
she  did  not  appear.  Instead  of  calling  her 
from  the  stairs,  Mrs.  Dansken  took  the 
trouble  to  go  up  to  her  room.  The  girl  did 
not  open  to  her  knock  at  once ;  she  held  the 
door  ajar,  a  very  little  way,  to  answer  her 
mistress's  demand  when  she  would  be  down. 

"I'm  coming,  right  away,  ma'am."  Mrs. 
Dansken  fancied  the  voice  from  within  the 
room  had  not  quite  a  natural  sound.  An  ex- 
cuse for  entering  occurred  to  her  simultane- 
ously with  the  resolve  that  she  would  get  on 
the  inside  of  that  guarded  door. 

"  Let  me  come  in,  Milly.  I  want  to  meas- 
ure the  sash  of  your  window.  Ann  says  one 
of  the  panes  is  cracked." 

"  Ann  told  her  that  two  months  ago," 
Milly  said  to  herself.  "  I  '11  give  you  the 
size  of  it,  ma'am,"  she  said  aloud. 


138     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  You  have  n't  time ;  it 's  five  o'clock  now. 
Let  me  come  in,  Milly." 

Mrs.  Dansken's  voice  was  peremptory,  but 
again  there  was  a  pause  before  the  door 
was  yielded.  Milly  had  her  dress  on,  but 
the  waist  was  still  unbuttoned,  though  she 
had  been  in  her  room,  Mrs.  Dansken  knew, 
three  quarters  of  an  hour.  The  quick  eye 
of  the  mistress,  roving  the  room,  perceived 
that  the  covers  of  the  bed  had  been  turned 
back,  but  that  the  pillows  were  smooth. 

"  Were  you  going  to  lie  down,  Milly  ? 
Don't  you  feel  well  ?  "  As  she  spoke,  insin- 
cerely, for  she  believed  that  Milly  was  per- 
fectly well,  she  saw  protruding  from  the  bed- 
covers a  white  sleeve,  an  evening  sleeve, 
shortened  to  the  elbow  and  delicately  finished 
with  lace.  So,  then,  there  was  something 
beneath,  which  the  covers  had  been  hastily 
thrown  back  to  hide.  With  one  of  her  quick 
movements  she  flung  them  into  place  again, 
exposing  the  guilty  box  upon  the  bed,  its 
contents  crammed  into  it,  hurriedly  and  un- 
successfully, as  the  white  sleeve  bore  witness. 

"  What  is  this,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 
Mrs.  Dansken  demanded  in  a  high,  exasper- 
ating voice.  Forgetting  her  own  intrusion 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  139 

on  a  false  pretense,  she  gave  way  to  the 
thrill  of  anger  and  disgust  which  possessed 
her.  She  felt  that  she  could  almost  have 
struck  the  girl  for  her  stupid,  coarse  con- 
cealments. "  What  have  you  got  here  that 
you  are  ashamed  to  show  me  ?  "  She  tilted 
off  the  box-lid  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
and  looked  contemptuously  at  the  pile  of 
soft  wool  and  lace  and  ribbon  that  repre- 
sented Frank's  first  essay  in  the  part  of 
King  Cophetua. 

"  That  's  a  very  handsome  dress  to  be 
tumbled  about  like  that.  Were  you  going 
to  put  it  on  to  wait  on  table  in  ?  " 

Milly  had  been  silent  because  her  shame 
and  rage  had  simply  taken  away  her  power 
to  speak. 

Mrs.  Dansken  herself  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot ;  she  was  losing  control  of  her- 
self, and  felt  that  she  could  not  be  accounta- 
ble for  what  she  might  say  next  if  that  girl 
continued  to  stand  there,  smiling  faintly,  in 
a  fixed  way,  and  as  speechless  as  a  stone. 

"  I  will  see  you  by  and  by.  You  and  I 
must  have  a  little  talk."  She  went  down  to 
her  room  and  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  ; 
all  the  strength  had  gone  out  of  her. 


140     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"Ann,"  she  whispered,  when  the  old 
woman  came  in  to  ask  her  what  had  become 
of  Milly,  "  that  girl  will  kill  me  yet !  "  But 
there  was  no  time  to  get  comfort  from  Ann. 
Dinner  was  served,  and  the  hostess  must  be 
in  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table.  "  Ann, 
go  upstairs,  will  you,  and  tell  Milly  to  come 
down."  The  farce  must  go  on,  and  mistress 
and  maid  must  take  their  parts.  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken  sickened  at  her  own,  but  she  was  emi- 
nently a  woman  of  business. 

There  was  a  long  pause  after  the  soup, 
which  Ann  herself  had  brought  in  and  re- 
moved. "  Where  is  Milly  ?  "  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken  asked,  as  Ann  reappeared  with  the 
chicken  patties. 

"  She  's  packin'  her  things  !  "  said  Ann. 

Mrs.  Dansken  whirled  round  in  her  chair. 
"  You  will  ask  her  to  please  come  down  and 
attend  to  her  work  at  once.  She  can  pack 
her  things  to-morrow." 

"Mem?"  said  Ann. 

"Excuse  me,"  —  Mrs.  Dansken  put  down 
her  napkin  and  looked  at  the  tableful  of 
boarders  :  her  voice  was  unsteady,  —  "  Ann 
will  wait  upon  you,"  she  managed  to  say. 
Blashfield  sprung  and  opened  the  door  for 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  141 

her,  and  every  man  at  the  table  rose  as  she 
left  the  room. 

She  had  meant  to  get  to  her  own  room  as 
quickly  as  possible  for  an  outburst  of  tears, 
but  she  felt  so  upheld  by  this  unexpected 
return  of  the  old  loyalty  that  she  was  ready 
to  encounter  even  Milly.  She  was  sure  that 
she  could  be  calm,  perhaps  she  could  be  just 
to  the  girl ;  for  what  had  she  discovered, 
after  all,  that  was  so  heinous,  considering 
the  way  she  had  discovered  it?  Sympathy, 
delicacy,  dignity,  Mrs.  Dansken  had  not; 
but  honesty,  even  with  herself,  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  her  soul.  She  ran  up  the  cold 
attic  stairs  in  a  better  mood  for  a  talk  with 
Milly  than  she  could  have  hoped  for ;  but 
Milly  was  not  there.  Her  trunk  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  ;  her  hat  and  shawl, 
and  the  box  from  off  the  bed,  were  gone. 


II. 


MRS.  DANSKEN  had  lain  long  in  the 
darkness  of  her  own  room.  Faint  sounds 
from  the  dining-room  told  that  dinner  was 
quietly  progressing.  "If  they  had  just 


142     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

carried  me  out  a  corpse  they  would  go  back 
to  their  chicken  patties,"  she  reflected,  and 
laughed  feebly  to  herself,  not  in  the  least 
resenting  this  conspicuous  masculine  trait. 
"  It  would  be  a  tribute  to  the  patties,  any- 
how," she  added  in  her  musings.  The  dark- 
ness was  peaceful,  and  she  was  glad,  after 
all,  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  see  Milly. 
"  She  must  have  gone  out  into  the  street  for 
a  moment  to  get  some  one  to  come  for  her 
trunk.  She  will  want  her  wages,  and  it  is 
better  she  should  go  without  any  more  words 
between  us.  We  were  never  meant  to  live 
together.  We  bring  out  all  that  is  worst  in 
each  other.  Even  Ann  sees  that." 

At  this  moment  Ann  came  stumbling  in 
with  a  clinking  tray,  which  she  placed  upon 
a  chair  by  the  bed  while  she  lighted  the 
lamp. 

"  Are  ye  sick  ? "  she  asked,  turning  to 
look  at  her  mistress. 

Mrs.  Dansken  could  have  kissed  her  grim 
old  face,  for  the  sense  of  nearness  and  con- 
fidence it  gave  her.  After  all,  was  there 
any  one  in  the  world  she  cared  for  more 
than  for  this  old  bit  of  wreck  saved  from 
the  home  that  had  gone  to  pieces  so  long 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  143 

ago?  She  fell  to  weeping  weakly  on  her 
pillow,  while  Ann  felt  of  her  hands,  and 
pulled  up  the  down  quilt  over  her  shoulders. 

"Oh,  I  'm  roasted!"  said  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken,  throwing  it  off.  Then  she  nestled 
down  again,  murmuring,  "  Thank  you,  you 
dear  old  thing ;  I  knew  you  would  n't  for- 
get about  me." 

"  Ye  better  take  a  drink  o'  this  tea.  Are 
ye  worryin'  about  Milly  Robi'son  ?  Sure 
it 's  better  she  's  goin'.  I  knew  ye  'd  never 
do  with  the  likes  av  her.  She  's  nayther  one 
thing  nor  another.  I  've  not  got  a  ha'porth 
agin  her,  myself.  I  cVd  do  with  her  well 
enough.  Where 's  yer  shawl  ?  "  Ann  looked 
about  and  found  it,  and  attempted  to  put 
it  about  her  mistress's  shoulders  as  she 
raised  herself  in  bed.  "  Are  ye  layin'  here 
widout  any  fire  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  any  fire.  This  tea  tastes 
so  good.  Ugh  !  I  'm  as  hot  as  fire  and  as 
cold  as  ice !  I  Ve  had  such  a  scene  with 
that  girl,  Ann.  I  hate  a  row  except  with 
you." 

"  'Deed  an'  ye  're  not  much  afraid  o'  me, 
that  's  a  fact.  Was  it  along  o'  the  frock 
she  had  sent  her  ?  " 


144     TEE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

Mrs.  Dansken  nodded. 

"  She  's  not  so  much  to  blame  for  that,  as 
I  can  find  out.  '  What  's  in  it  ? '  says  I, 
whin  I  see  the  box  layin'  on  the  bed.  An' 
whin  she  opened  it  she  went  red  in  the  face, 
an'  says  she,  '  I  know  who  sent  it,  an'  I  'm 
goin'  to  send  it  back.' ' 

"  That  's  a  likely  story  !  "  Mrs.  Dansken 
cried  out.  "  She  'd  been  trying  it  on.  She 
had  just  crammed  it  back  into  the  box  when 
I  went  upstairs  to  call  her." 

Ann  looked  at  her  mistress  shrewdly. 
"Was  ye  in  the  room?" 

"  Of  course  I  was  in  the  room.  How  did 
I  see  the  dress  if  I  was  n't  in  the  room  ?  " 

"Well,  ye  'd  better  have  kept  out,  an'  let 
her  have  her  things  to  herself.  I  'd  niver 
want  the  missus  thrackin'  me  about.  A 
gurl  's  got  a  right  to  some  place  av  her  own." 

"  Don't  scold  me,  Ann.  I  own  I  was 
stupid  about  that  —  but  I  tell  you,  she  is  a 
girl  who  needs  watching." 

"  Ye  had  me  to  watch  her,  an  old  woman 
that  knows  what  gurls  is.  I  niver  see  noth- 
in'  wrong  wid  her,  barrin'  she  's  a  bit  close 
about  herself  ;  an'  it  's  what  they  have  to  be 
when  they  've  got  themselves  to  look  out 
for." 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  145 

44 1  thought  you  hated  her." 

Ann  laughed  shortly.  "I  was  none  so 
fond  av  her  at  the  first  off,  but  whin  I  see 
—  who  's  that  goin'  out  ?  " 

The  street  door  had  closed,  somewhat 
early  for  the  young  men  to  be  taking  their 
departure. 

44  It  's  Milly  coming  back,  I  should  n't 
wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  listening  for  a 
step  on  the  stairs. 

44  Comin'  back  ?  "    Ann  repeated. 

44  Yes ;  did  n't  you  know  she  was  gone  ?  " 

44  Wheriver  has  she  gone  to,  for  the  good 
Lord's  sake  ?  "  said  Ann,  rising  up.  44  She 
tould  me  she  'd  not  sleep  in  this  house  an- 
other night.  4  Very  well,'  says  I ;  4  wait  till 
I  get  my  kitchen  red  up  an'  I  '11  go  wid. 
ye  to  the  Sisters'.'  An'  how  long  is  she 
gone  ?  " 

44  Why,  ever  so  long.  I  thought  she  was 
coming  back.  Her  trunk  is  here." 

44 1  '11  jist  out,  thin,  an'  afther  her.  Will 
ye  be  gettin'  up  now  ?  "  Ann  hesitated,  look- 
ing at  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Dansken  saw  that 
she  was  uneasy. 

44  Go  along,  you  best  old  creature !  —  Ann, 
wait  a  minute  !  Do  you  know  who  sent  her 
the  dress?" 


146     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  Sure,  w'u'd  I  ask  a  gurl  a  thing  like 
that?  An'  she  'd  niver  have  tould  me,  any- 
way." 

"  I  'm  jealous,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  throw- 
ing herself  back  in  the  bed.  "  Here  you  Ve 
been  making  me  believe  you  despised  that 
girl,  and  thought  about  her  just  the  same  as 
I  did,  and  all  the  while  you  were  on  her 
side." 

"  No  'm,  I  'm  none  so  fond  av  her,"  Ann 
maintained.  But  she  did  not  wait  to  "  red 
up  "  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Dansken  heard  the 
street  door  again  a  very  few  moments  after 
Ann  had  left  her.  The  young  men  were 
laughing  over  their  cigars  in  the  parlor. 
She  put  on  an  apron,  entered  the  dining- 
room  by  the  hall  door,  and  began  to  clear 
the  table,  keeping  the  curtain  closed,  for  she 
did  not  wish  to  be  questioned.  Ann  should 
not  find  her  work  waiting  for  her  when  she 
returned  from  her  walk  in  the  dark  snowy 
streets.  If  Williams  had  been  at  home  — 
or  if  Frank  had  not  gone,  how  quickly  she 
would  trust  him  now,  to  go  in  search  of 
Milly. 

Ann  walked  slowly  up  and  down  Harrison 
Avenue,  passing  and  repassing  the  windows 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  147 

of  the  Clarendon,  looking  down  all  the  side 
streets ;  finally  she  ventured  to  ask  one  or 
two  respectable  wayfarers  if  they  had  seen 
a  young  woman  in  a  dark  cloth  jacket  and 
a  turban,  and  carrying  a  big  white  box. 
Ann  was  sure  the  box  was  in  some  way 
responsible  for  Milly's  giving  her  the  slip. 
She  meant  to  cast  about  in  their  own  neigh- 
borhood before  taking  that  long  walk  across 
the  town  to  the  Sisters'.  She  stopped  one 
of  the  waiters  in  the  door  of  the  Clarendon 
as  she  passed  down  on  that  side  of  the  street. 
It  was  the  one  whom,  without  knowing  his 
nationality,  she  called  the  Swedener,  who 
occasionally  brought  Mrs.  Dansken's  orders 
for  her  little  festivities.  Had  he  seen  Milly 
Kobinson  that  evening  ? 

"  Yes,"  the  man  replied.  "  She  coom  mit 
a  pox  ;  an'  she  say,  leef  it  in  t'e  offis  for 
Mist'  Embury.  Mist'  Embury  he  coom 
shust  t'en;  unt  he  say,  send  t'e  pox  up  to 
his  room.  Unt  t'ey  walk  town  street  to- 
gedder." 

Ann  gave  a  grunt.  "  N-n !  "  she  objected, 
in  that  indescribable  form  of  dissent  which 
the  West  has  imported  from  the  South. 
"  That  's  not  Milly  Robinson." 


148  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  She  vas  Milly." 

"  N-n  !  "  Ann  persisted. 

"  It  vas  t'e  pox,  anyhow,"  the  man  de- 
clared. "  I  see  t'e  man  vat  pack  dat  pox 
over  to  Mis'  Dansken,  unt  he  say  it  vas  for 
Milly." 

"  Sure  I  hope  it  was  Milly,"  said  Ann, 
changing  her  ground  of  defense.  "  That  's 
all  I  wan'  to  know.  Is  she  along  av  our 
Misther  Embury  ?  " 

"She  vas  mit  him.  Dey  vent  town  t'e 
street  togedder." 

Ann  did  not  go  to  the  Sisters',  but  she 
told  her  mistress  that  Milly  was  there ;  and 
Mrs.  Dansken  was  too  glad  of  the  assurance 
to  reflect  that  it  was  a  mile  or  more  to  the 
Sisters'  hospital,  and  that  Ann  could  hardly 
have  gone  and  returned  in  the  time  she  had 
been  absent. 

"  Ye  're  to  pay  her  money  to  me,  an' 
she  '11  send  for  her  thrunk  in  the  mornin'." 

In  her  toilsome  walk  in  life  Ann  had  seen 
many  cases  of  folly  and  sin  end  as  the  case 
of  Milly  seemed  likely  to  end,  but  never  one 
of  knightly  championship.  She  had  never 
met  with  a  case  of  this  kind,  and  out  of  her 
experience  she  drew  her  conclusions.  It 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  149 

hurt  her  that  the  girl  should  have  taken  her- 
self off  without  even  saying  good-by  to  her 
old  comrade,  who  had  sincerely  conquered  a 
prejudice  for  kindness'  sake. 

"  I  doubt  but  the  missus  was  in  the  right : 
she  'd  a  bad  heart,  or  she  'd  niver  have  give 
me  the  slip  like  that."  But,  in  spite  of  her 
own  belief,  nothing  could  have  induced  Ann 
to  destroy  the  girl's  last  chance  of  retreat 
should  the  heart  not  prove  so  bad  after  all. 


in. 

FRANK  and  Milly  were  by  the  bridge 
again,  and  this  time  there  was  no  brown  veil 
between  them.  Milly's  cheeks  were  not  pink 
like  the  sunset  color  on  the  eastern  peaks ; 
they  were  pale  as  the  snow  which  starkly 
outlined  them  against  the  night  sky.  She 
was  awake  at  last.  Frank  thought  he  had 
never  seen  a  face  so  beautiful  as  hers  while 
she  told  him  the  story  of  her  wrongs  and 
her  insults.  Not  a  word  accused  him,  but 
he  felt  that  he  was  responsible  for  all  that 
had  cost  her  an  honorable  refuge,  a  place  of 
safety,  if  not  a  home.  No  doubt  he  sup- 


150     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

posed  himself  to  be  thinking  while  he  lis- 
tened to  Milly's  story  and  looked  at  her 
beautiful  face,  but  he  was  merely  tingling 
with  a  mixture  of  passionate  promptings. 
He  scarcely  heard  what  she  was  saying  as 
she  urged  that  she  must  go  back,  and  re- 
minded him  for  the  third  or  fourth  time  that 
she  had  come  out  not  expecting  to  see  him, 
only  to  get  rid  of  the  dress,  which  she  had 
never  meant  to  take. 

"  And  I  made  you  take  it.  I  have 
brought  all  this  trouble  upon  you,  Milly  ; 
but,  dear,  happiness  shall  come  of  it.  It 
was  all  for  the  best  —  to  bring  us  together, 
my  darling." 

"  I  must  go  back  —  I  must !  "  Milly 
pleaded. 

"You  shall  never  go  back,"  said  the 
dreamer.  "  Is  it  more  insults  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  promised  to  go  back.  Ann  is  going 
with  me  to  the  Sisters'." 

"  The  Sisters' !  Milly,  I  am  the  one  to 
take  care  of  you  now." 

"  No,  sir.  No,  Mr.  Embury.  You  must 
n't  kiss  me  —  I  'm  not  —  oh,  you  don't 
know,  you  don't  know !  " 

"  Milly,"   said  Frank,  "  God  knows  how 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  151 

we  have  got  where  we  are  —  but  here  we  are. 
We  are  never  going  to  part  any  more.  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  say  such  things  to 
me,"  sobbed  Milly. 

"  Who,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  should 
say  such  things,  if  not  I  ?  Do  you  know 
what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  let  me  go,  sir,  please  !  They  '11  be 
out  after  me." 

"  Stop  sirring  me,  will  you?  Who  will  be 
out  after  you  ?  Is  there  any  one  in  that  house 
who  is  likely  to  care  what  becomes  of  you?  " 

"  There  's  Ann,  sir  "  — 

"  Ann  be  hanged  !  Can  Ann  take  care 
of  you  ?  Ah,  Milly,  listen  to  me  !  —  For 
Heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Look  at  me !  "  sobbed  the  girl,  with 
such  wild  deprecation  in  her  face  that  Frank 
was  forced  to  heed  her.  "  Can't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Can't  I  see  ?  I  see  that  you  are  a  dear, 
good,  helpless  girl,  who  is  going  to  be  my 
wife.  We  are  going  to  be  married  to-night. 
Hush,  hush  !  not  a  word.  —  I  don't  know 
anything  about  you  ?  Do  you  know  any- 
thing about  me  ?  No,  I  won't  hear  a  word. 
Can't  I  see,  indeed  !  I  see  that  you  are  my 


152  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

darling.     There,  there !    What,  more  tears, 
Milly  ?     Am  I  such  a  monster  ?  " 

"  You  are  good,"  said  Milly.  "  You  are 
the  best  —  I  ever  saw  ;  but  you  don't  know 
—  you  don't  know !  Let  me  go,  to-night. 
Let  me  tell  you  —  what  I  said  I  must." 

"  You  shall  tell  me  all  to-morrow.  There 
are  things  /  might  tell.  We  will  take  each 
other  011  trust,  and  I  shall  get  the  best  of 
the  bargain,  my  lovely  one.  Do  you  know 
what  we  are  going  to  do  ?  That  poor,  in- 
sulted little  gown  I  made  you  take  —  you 
shall  wear  it  to-morrow  night.  You  will 
need  no  chaperone  as  my  wife." 

"  I  can't,  I  can't !  "  Milly  protested,  but 
no  longer  with  the  same  force  of  denial. 
She  struggled  in  his  arms,  and  he  let  her  go, 
seeing  that  some  one  was  approaching. 

They  were  not  in  a  nice  part  of  the  town, 
if  any  part  of  it  could  be  called  nice  after 
nightfall,  when  the  mountains  withdrew 
their  countenances  and  left  it  to  the  light 
of  its  flaring  windows,  its  occasional  smoky 
street-lamps  and  intervals  of  slippery  dark- 
ness. They  were  out  of  the  centre  of  lamps 
and  lighted  windows,  except  the  windows  of 
a  suburban  groggery  where  a  fiddle  was  tun- 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  153 

iiig  up  in  a  crazy  way,  as  if  the  ear  and  the 
hand  went  wild  that  were  groping  for  the 
tune.  The  light  of  this  squalid  revelry  was 
cast  upon  the  foul  snow  at  their  feet ;  it 
shone  upon  the  two  young  faces,  pictured 
upon  the  darkness,  close  together,  eye  to  eye 
in  the  struggle  between  two  wills  —  one  fiery 
and  undisciplined,  and  one  that  was  strong, 
but  sluggish,  and  sick  with  fear. 

The  stranger  stared  hard,  and  looked 
back  as  he  passed  them.  He  looked  back 
more  than  once,  and  then  retraced  his  steps. 
He  was  a  thin,  cold-looking  man,  in  a  shabby 
suit  of  black,  with  a  pair  of  dilapidated 
"arctics"  exaggerating  to  enormities  the 
size  of  his  feet.  He  addressed  them  in  a 
voice  nasal  but  sweet. 

"  My  young  friends,  have  you  found  the 
Lord  ?  Is  he  leading  you  by  the  hand  to- 
night?" 

He  paused  for  an  answer.  "  I  do  not 
know  the  face  of  this  young  sister,"  the 
exhorter  continued  as  neither  of  the  young 
people  spoke ;  "  but,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
this  young  man  is  Mr.  Embury,  of  the  firm 
of  Williams  &  Embury  —  yes  ?  " 

"  That  's  my  name,"  said  Frank.  "  Are 
you  a  clergyman,  sir  ?  " 


154  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  The  Rev.  Mr.  Black,  of  the  Methodist 
Mission  in  Second  Street.  And  if  you  will 
excuse  an  old  man's  advice,  Mr.  Embury,  I 
think,  sir,  if  this  young  woman's  parents 
reside  in  the  city,  you  would  better  take  her 
home.  It  is  late,  my  dear  young  friends, 
except  for  such  as  are  out,  like  myself,  upon 
errands  of  necessity  or  mercy." 

"Mr.  Black,"  said  Frank,  uyou  can  do 
me  a  very  great  service,  if  you  will." 

Begging  Milly  to  excuse  him,  he  drew  the 
minister  aside  and  spoke  with  him  earnestly, 
while  Milly  waited,  helplessly  sure  what  this 
service  was  likely  to  be. 

"  Is  the  young  woman  quite  satisfied  in 
her  mind  as  to  the  step  she  is  taking?  " 

Mr.  Black  came  close  to  Milly  and  took 
her  hand,  smiling  upon  her  with  his  intimate, 
pastoral  smile.  Milly  drew  away  her  hand. 

"  If  she  has  the  least  doubt,  before  it  is  too 
late  I  would  advise  a  talk  with  my  wife  — 
an  excellent  woman,  though  I  say  it,  and 
a  woman  of  great  experience  where  young 
girls  are  concerned." 

Milly  looked  repellent.  u  You  don't  wish 
to  talk  to  anybody,  do  you,  Milly  ?  "  Frank 
answered  for  her.  She  assented  silently. 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  155 

"  Very  well ;  then  let  us  go  to  my  home, 
and  take  counsel  with  our  thoughts  as  we  go. 
And  if  no  objections  arise,  and  you  feel  that 
you  can  trust  the  state  of  mind  you  are 


IV. 

FRANK  had  a  few  moments  alone  with 
Milly  in  the  parlor  of  the  parsonage  after 
the  ceremony,  while  Mr.  Black  consulted 
with  his  wife  whether  it  would  be  possible 
for  them  to  keep  the  bride  over  night. 

"  I  must  not  take  you  to  the  Clarendon 
to-night,  Milly.  We  cannot  have  it  said 
around  town  that  I  brought  you  in  out  of  the 
streets  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  I  shall 
take  rooms  for  my  wife  and  come  for  her 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning  —  my  sweet ! 
You  won't  be  lonesome,  will  you  ?  Does  it 
seem  a  strange  way  to  take  care  of  you  ?  I 
want  to  be  so  careful  of  you  now,  because 
it  had  to  be  so  sudden.  And  this  is  quite 
the  right  sort  of  place  for  you  to  stay." 

"  I  don't  want  to  stay,"  whispered  Milly  ; 
"  I  did  n't  want  to  do  any  of  it." 

"Oh,  please,  Milly  !  when  I  must  leave 


156     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

you  so  soon.  There  was  nothing  else  for 
us  to  do,  my  darling.  If  we  had  not  been 
meant  for  each  other  should  we  ever  have  got 
where  we  are  ?  I  will  not  believe  you  don't 
care  for  me  —  I  will  make  you  care  !  " 

"  It  's  no  use  my  talking,"  said  Milly, 
relenting.  "  You  do  just  what  you  want  with 
me.  You  always  did." 

"I  always  intend  to  —  and  it  shall  be  just 
what  my  darling  likes  best." 

Mrs.  Black,  it  seemed,  could  keep  Milly 
by  a  little  hospitable  management.  Milly 
made  no  further  objection,  and  Frank  had  no 
scruples  in  accepting  the  obligation.  It  is 
not  unlikely  that  he  felt  he  was  honoring 
the  parson's  dwelling.  While  the  daughter 
made  the  necessary  changes  for  the  night,  a 
simple  entertainment  was  set  forth  by  the 
minister's  wife  for  the  young  couple  who 
were  beginning  their  life  together  under  the 
roof  of  strangers,  without  the  blessing  of 
kith  or  kin. 

Little  was  eaten  and  little  was  said,  ex- 
cept by  the  minister,  whose  words  fell  in  the 
silence  without  meaning  for  those  they  were 
intended  to  encourage  and  to  warn.  Frank 
took  his  leave  as  soon  as  possible,  kissing 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  157 

his  wife  quietly,  and  commending  her,  with 
a  look  that  the  minister's  wife  said  was 
beautiful,  to  the  good  woman's  care. 

She  was  a  woman  whose  goodness  was  the 
most  apparent  thing  about  her,  except  a 
large  forehead  and  nose  that  gave  a  benig- 
nant look  of  authority  to  her  countenance. 
It  was  plain  that  she  was  mistress  of  the 
parsonage,  if  not  of  the  parson  himself.  If 
she  had  said  that  he  must  not  marry  the 
young  people,  he  would  probably  have  de- 
clined to  do  so.  What  she  did  say,  in  the 
brief  matrimonial  conference  in  the  kitchen 
before  the  ceremony  was  performed,  was 
much  to  the  effect  of  St.  Paul's  words  on 
the  same  question ;  also,  that  if  "  they," 
meaning  her  husband,  refused  to  marry 
them,  the  young  couple  could  easily  find 
some  one  else  who  would. 

When  Milly  had  been  half  an  hour  alone 
in  the  room  vacated  by  the  minister's 
daughter,  Mrs.  Black  went  up  to  her  door 
and  knocked.  Milly  had  been  sitting  on 
the  side  of  the  bed,  with  her  clothes  on  but 
in  her  stocking  feet,  for  her  shoes  were 
damp  with  snow.  She  had  been  going  back 
over  her  poor  past,  trying  to  imagine  her- 


158     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

self  opening  that  foolish,  blotted  page  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  delicate,  imperative 
young  gentleman  who  had  just  bound  his 
fate  to  hers  for  better  or  for  worse.  And 
when  she  looked  into  the  future  the  prospect 
was  no  surer ;  it  was  impossible  to  think  of 
it  as  their  future.  She  had  told  the  simple 
truth  when  she  had  said  that  he  could  do 
what  he  pleased  with  her  ;  but  not  he  nor 
any  other  hero  of  a  girl's  fancy  could  have 
power  to  do  away  with  certain  facts  which 
made  this  marriage  a  problem,  even  to  the 
slow,  unimaginative  nature  that  was  dumbly 
struggling  with  it.  When  she  heard  the 
heavy  step  on  the  stairs  and  the  gentle  but 
confident  knock,  Milly  could  have  given  a 
cry  of  welcome  to  this  last  chance  of  coun- 
sel, if  not  of  escape. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Black,  coming 
promptly  to  her  side,  "  I  came  up  to  see  if 
you  had  bed-covers  enough  —  but  of  course 
you  can't  go  to  sleep  yet,"  she  added,  glan- 
cing at  Milly's  dress.  u  There  's  a  little  fire 
in  my  bed-room,  right  across  the  hall. 
Would  you  like  to  come  in  and  sit  awhile? 
Mr.  Black  he  's  downstairs  doing  some 
writing.  He  don't  write  out  his  sermons  as 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  159 

a  general  thing,  but  this  is  a  letter  to  a 
newspaper,  one  of  our  church  papers  at 
home,  he  's  occasional  correspondent  for. 
They  like  to  know  what  progress  we  're 
making  here.  It  's  a  wonderful  place  for 
awakenings.  It  seems  when  we  get  right 
amongst  all  that  's  blackest  and  sinfulest  in 
our  poor  human  nature  we  find  the  most 
helpfulness,  one  for  another.  You  'd  be 
surprised  the  rescuer  and  comforter  my 
husband  's  been  able  to  be,  and  all  because 
the  work  is  ready  and  waiting  for  any  one 
who  '11  take  hold  and  believe.  —  Well,  dear, 
what  's  your  trouble  ?  We  've  all  got  some- 
thing. You  don't  suppose  I  can't  see  it  is 
n't  all  quite  clear  before  you.  How  could 
it  be,  poor  child !  But  he  's  a  lovely  young 
man  —  and  you  're  very  pretty,  my  dear. 
You  've  got  it  all  in  your  own  hands." 

"  It  's  no  use  my  being  pretty,"  replied 
Milly,  despondently.  She  was  sitting  in  a 
low  chair  by  the  stove  in  Mrs.  Black's  bed- 
room, forgetting  to  care  that  her  feet,  in 
their  soiled  stockings,  were  visible.  Mrs. 
Black  was  in  the  big  scroll-back  rocking- 
chair  opposite,  rocking  and  talking,  and 
looking  at  Milly,  not  at  Milly's  stockings, 


160     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

and  snipping  her  darning  threads,  without 
the  least  confusion  of  impulses. 

"  No,  not  if  pretty  's  all  there  is  of  it. 
But  it 's  a  good  thing  when  the  young  man  's 
so  good-looking.  It  's  best  not  to  have  the 
looks  all  on  his  side.  Now  it  ain't  because 
you  're  pretty  you  're  worrying  to-night." 
She  examined  Milly  with  her  practiced 
motherly  glance.  —  "  My  dear,  you  better 
go  lie  down  this  minute.  What  have  you 
been  through  to  make  you  look  like  that !  " 
She  got  Milly  quickly  into  her  bed  and  felt 
her  over  carefully.  "  Where  do  you  feel 
sick?" 

"  I  'm  not  sick,"  said  Milly. 

"  Well,  now,  out  with  it,  same  as  if  I 
was  your  mother !  There  's  trouble  here 
somewhere." 

Mrs.  Black  waited,  holding  the  girl's 
hands  in  her  own,  looking  at  her  steadily 
with  her  mild,  strong,  dark  eyes. 

Milly  gave  a  little  groan  and  turned  away 
her  face.  "  Mrs.  "  —  She  hesitated. 

"  Mrs.  Black,"  prompted  that  lady. 

"Mrs.  Blackvl  'm  a  married  woman." 

"  Of  course  you  are,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Black,  with  an  encouraging  squeeze  of 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  161 

Milly's  hands.  "  I  was  your  witness  myself, 
and  I  'd  uphold  you  in  it,  for  I  saw  plain 
enough  that  young  man  was  bound  to  have 
his  way." 

"  I  was  married  and  had  a  child  before  I 
ever  saw  him." 

"  And  does  n't  he  know  you  're  a  widow  ?  " 
Mrs.  Black  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"  I  'm  not  a  widow,  like  any  other  widow." 

"  Is  n't  your  husband  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  left  me,  first.  I  never  put 
on  black  for  him,  or  saw  him ;  I  passed  my- 
self off  for  a  girl." 

'*  What  did  you  say,  my  dear?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  what  I  did. 
I  did  n't  do  anything ;  it  came  of  itself 
somehow,  and  I  let  it  go  on." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Black.  "It  's  the 
easiest  way  sometimes.  I  suspect  we  're  all 
inclined  that  way."  She  waited  for  Milly's 
next  words. 

"  He  left  me,  and  I  had  to  come  after  him. 
Last  spring  I  got  here.  I  had  to  come.  I 
was  n't  to  my  own  home.  My  home  's  in 
Canada.  He  took  me  away  from  there  and 
he  never  found  me  no  other  home.  My 
father  did  n't  like  him,  and  we  were  married 


162  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

secret,  and  I  went  away  with  him  when  it 
had  to  be  known.  My  father  he  's  slow,  but 
he  's  awful  stubborn.  When  I  got  here  I 
found  he  'd  left  me  and  no  word  where  I 
was  to  find  him,  and  then  I  knew  he  'd  left 
me  for  good.  And  my  baby  was  born  at  the 
Sisters'  hospital.  It  died.  And  when  I  got 
strong  enough  I  went  to  work  at  Daniel  & 
Fisher's.  I  told  them  I  was  Mrs.  Robinson. 
They  did  n't  understand  me,  somehow ;  I 
suppose  they  thought  I  looked  young.  They 
called  me  Miss  Robinson ;  and  all  of  a 
sudden  that  seemed  the  easiest  way.  All 
those  girls  in  the  store  were  lookin'  me  over, 
and  talkin'  about  other  girls  they  knew,  and 
I  knew  they  'd  talk  that  way  about  me.  If 
I  'd  said  I  was  Mrs.,  they  'd  have  wanted  to 
know  where  was  my  husband,  and  I  did  n't 
know  then  he  was  dead.  I  was  weak  and 
sick  and  I  did  n't  want  to  answer  questions, 
and  I  let  it  go  on.  And  every  day  it  got 
harder  to  get  it  back." 

"  My  dear,  that  was  a  terrible  risk  you 
took,  besides  its  being  so  wrong  —  though 
you  're  punished  for  it  this  minute,  and  I 
need  n't  remind  you." 

"  I  know  it  was  wrong,  Mrs.  Black ;  but 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  163 

I  did  n't  seem  to  care,  if  only  I  -could  be  let 
alone.  And  nobody  knew  but  the  Sisters, 
and  they  're  the  same  as  dead  to  what  's  out- 
side of  their  own  work.  But  I  did  n't  care, 
that  's  the  truth.  I  did  n't  think  I  was 
going  to  live  long,  I  felt  so  sick." 

"  Oh,  my !  That  's  because  you  never 
felt  that  way  before.  I  don't  doubt  you  felt 
miserable  enough,  my  dear ;  but  it  ain't  so 
easy  for  women  to  die.  We  're  dreadful 
tough." 

"  Well,  I  got  better,  and  I  thought  I  'd 
tell  the  lady  I  went  to  work  for,  after  I  left 
the  store.  I  left  partly  for  that,  so  I  could 
make  a  fresh  start.  But  I  could  n't  tell  her. 
Don't  you  know  there  's  folks  you  can't  tell 
things  to  and  there  's  some  you  can  ?  I  could 
have  told  you." 

"Well,  I  'm  just  an  ordinary  woman," 
said  Mrs.  Black,  "  and  I  've  seen  such  a 
sight  of  trouble.  Nothing  could  ever  sur- 
prise me." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  I  could  tell  her,  after 
a  while,  when  I  got  used  to  her ;  but  when  I 
came  to  hear  her  talking  I  knew  I  'd  never 
tell  her.  She  'd  have  had  it  all  over  the 
house  ;  and  when  she  told  things  they  some- 


164     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

how  sounded  different  to  what  they  were. 
She  could  make  things  sound  any  way  she 
liked.  Ann,  the  cook  she  had,  found  out 
I  'd  had  a  child.  The  Sisters  told  her,  and 
then  I  told  her  the  rest.  But  I  did  n't 
mind  Ann.  I  knew  she  'd  never  tell  on  me. 
And  after  she  knew,  she  was  awful  good  to 
me." 

"  When  was  it  your  husband  died  ?  " 

"  It  was  June  when  I  heard  from  his 
partner  that  he  'd  been  found.  His  horse 
slipped  off  the  trail  and  fell  on  him." 

"  And  you  did  mourn  for  him  some,  I 
know!"  " 

"  I  had  my  own  troubles,"  said  Milly, 
sullenly.  "  It  was  he  brought  them  on  me, 
and  he  never  took  none  of  'em  on  hiuiself. 
He  took  me  away  from  a  good  home  and  he 
never  give  me  another." 

"  Well,  you  have  got  trouble  now,  that  's 
a  fact.  But  the  first  thing  you  've  got  to  do 
is  to  straighten  this  all  out  with  your  hus- 
band. You  ain't  much  acquainted,  are  you  ? 
How  did  you  come  to  meet  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  boarded  in  the  house  where  I  was 
working." 

"  Well,   surely  that   shows   he  ain't   got 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  165 

prejudices.  And  if  he  loved  you  before  he 
knew  you  'd  had  trouble,  he  won't  love  you 
a  bit  the  less  now." 

"  He  knew  I  'd  had  trouble,  but  not  — 
that  kind.  I  know  —  I  tried  to  tell  him. 
I  did  try,  Mrs.  Black  !  " 

"  Ah,  I  'm  afraid  you  put  it  off  too  long, 
my  dear.  If  you  'd  only  come  to  me  before 
the  ceremony  and  told  me,  I  could  have 
made  him  understand.  You  'd  have  known 
then  how  much  he  thought  of  you ;  but  it 
ain't  for  me  to  remind  you.  And  now  you  're 
afraid  to  out  with  it  —  ain't  that  so  ?  Well, 
I  guess  he  's  human,  same  's  the  rest  of  us. 
I  can  see  what  he  is  —  headstrong  and  proud 
and  full  of  his  fine  notions,  and  wants  to 
be  loved,  like  any  other  man,  but  dreadful 
particular  who  he  loves.  I  don't  say  it 's 
the  safest  sort  of  marriage ;  but  it 's  made 
and  done  with  now,  and  you  've  got  your 
pretty  face,  and  if  he  ain't  sorry  for  you 
when  you  tell  him  what  you  've  been 
through  "  — 

"  He  'd  be  sorry,  but  —  oh,  you  don't 
know  him !  " 

"  I  know  we  are  prone  to  error,  every  one 
of  us,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward.  I  guess  if 


166  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

you  were  to  go  back  into  the  history  of  that 
young  man  you  'd  find  he 's  done  things  he  's 
wished  he  had  n't  done.  But  it  all  depends 
on  how  much  you  care  for  each  other.  Do 
you  love  him,  my  dear  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Milly.  "I  ain't 
like  myself  when  I  'm  with  him.  He  thinks 
I  'm  different  to  what  I  am,  and  that  makes 
me  different." 

"  Of  course  —  I  see  how  it  is.  But  it  's 
no  use  worrying  about  the  future.  You 
know  what  you  Ve  got  to  do  now.  You  've 
got  to  tell  him  first  thing  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  no  bones  about  it !  Don't  you  let 
him  take  you  in  his  arms  as  his  wedded  wife 
without  your  soul  is  clear  before  him.  If 
you  do,  you  '11  both  repent  it  to  the  longest 
day  you  live." 

"I  can't  ever  be  his  wife,  Mrs.  Black. 
That  's  never  going  to  be.  Something  will 
happen  to  stop  it,  I  know." 

"  Don't  you  go  to  trusting  to  any  such 
feelings  as  those.  You  've  trusted  and  let 
things  go  on  too  much  already,  my  dear ; 
and  that  's  your  way,  I  see.  What  you  need 
is  more  confidence.  Now  don't  go  to  de- 
spairing of  your  marriage.  It  's  begun 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  167 

badly,  but  that  ain't  all  your  fault.  I  can 
see  what  chance  you  had  with  a  young  fel- 
low like  him.  He  's  got  a  good  deal  too 
much  confidence.  But  don't  you  let  his  con- 
fidence be  the  ruin  of  you  both,  and  when  it 
comes  to  marriages  —  why,  there  's  all  sorts, 
and  it 's  amazing  how  comfortable  they  turn 
out,  spite  of  everything.  There  's  always 
marriages  just  as  risky  as  yours  is,  when 
a  new  country  is  being  settled  up  —  young 
men  and  women  meeting  together,  with  all 
sorts  of  families  back  of  them,  so  pleased 
with  all  the  new  ways  of  seeing  one  an- 
other, and  nothing  plain  and  natural  to  show 
'em  their  inside  differences.  Why,  it 's  the 
greatest  wonder  in  the  world  they  ever  make 
out  as  they  do,  the  most  of  'em.  If  you 
were  to  go  back  in  his  own  family,  I  guess 
you  'd  find  the  mates  were  n't  all  matches. 
It  gets  evened  up  somehow,  when  they  come 
to  live  together.  There  's  a  blessing,  I  tell 
you,  on  the  relation." 

Mrs.  Black  had  indulged  a  strain  of 
extreme  leniency  and  hopefulness,  to  give 
Milly  courage  for  her  duty.  What  she  said 
to  her  husband,  before  they  slept,  was  nearer 
her  true  judgment  of  the  case. 


168     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  I  wish  we  had  n't  been  the  means  of  it, 
Samuel.  It  was  mainly  my  doings,  and  I  'm 
punished  for  thinking  they  were  past  reason- 
ing with,  both  of  'em.  I  don't  know  as  I 
ever  saw  two  misguided  young  creatures  in 
such  a  fix.  I  tried  to  encourage  her  all  I 
could,  but  she  's  made  a  miserable  piece  of 
work  of  it  so  far ;  and  I  'm  sorry  for  him, 
when  he  comes  to  write  that  letter  home." 

"  And  when  I  saw  those  two  young  peo- 
ple in  the  street,"  said  Mr.  Black,  "  he  was 
the  one  I  took  to  be  the  deceiver." 

"  He  's  the  kind  of  deceiver  that  deceives 
nobody  but  himself  —  and  I  don't  know  but 
that  's  as  bad  as  any  kind." 

"  Not  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord,  Martha." 

"  The  Lord  can  forgive  more  sins  than 
they  two  '11  ever  commit,"  said  Martha 
Black,  who  had  a  tenderness  for  the  heart 
that  had  unburdened  itself  to  her  sympa- 
thy, and  who  knew  that  Milly's  troubles  had 
just  begun. 

Frank's  letter  to  his  mother  was  to  have 
been  written  before  he  went  to  fetch  his 
wife.  He  rose  early  for  the  purpose,  after 
one  of  those  nights  of  wakefulness  we  re- 
member for  years  afterwards  as  a  distinct 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  169 

experience.  In  his  watchings  he  had  com- 
posed a  number  of  letters,  but  when  it  came 
to  writing  them  out  he  got  no  farther  than 
"  Dear  Mother."  It  was  to  the  mother,  who 
takes  the  brunt  of  unpleasant  family  news, 
he  addressed  himself.  When  he  had  got  as 
far  as  this  he  could  see  his  mother's  face,  he 
could  hear  her  voice  asking  his  father  to 
step  into  the  library  a  moment.  He  could 
see  both  their  faces  as  they  sat  down  and 
looked  at  each  other,  with  the  letter  between 
them.  On  the  whole  he  concluded  to  wait 
until  after  the  ball.  He  could  then  tell 
them  of  his  wife's  first  appearance  in  the 
society  of  the  town,  and  of  her  reception. 

He  had  no  doubts  on  this  score.  It  is  the 
men,  he  theorized,  who  decide  a  girl's  fate  at 
a  ball. 

He  had  changed  his  small  second-story 
room  at  the  Clarendon  for  a  large  one  on 
the  first  hall,  opposite  the  ladies'  parlor. 
When  the  arrangement  had  been  concluded 
at  the  desk,  the  clerk  remarked  that  the 
bridal  chamber  was  coming  it  rather  strong 
for  a  single  man.  Frank  flushed,  but  gave 
the  information  with  dignity  that  he  had 
been  married  the  evening  before  at  the  Rev. 


170     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

Mr.  Black's,  where  his  wife  was  now  stay- 
ing. 

The  clerk  smiled  the  smile  of  the  foolish, 
and  inquired  if  the  lady  was  any  connection 
of  Mr.  Black's ;  and  Frank  was  obliged  to 
relinquish  this  straw  of  respectability  which 
he  had  grasped  at  for  the  sake  of  Milly's 
antecedents. 

Milly  had  lamented  to  Mrs.  Black,  as  the 
chief  of  her  excuses,  that  she  had  never  had 
a  chance  to  speak  with  Frank  without  fear  of 
interruption,  except  in  the  open  streets.  But 
now  they  were  alone,  for  a  lifetime,  in  the 
bridal  chamber  of  the  Clarendon,  with  win- 
dow-blinds closed  to  shut  out  the  staring 
daylight,  with  no  idea  between  them  of 
the  time,  or  of  how  the  world  was  going 
outside.  The  world  for  them  had  centred 
in  this  their  first  day  together. 

Frank  had  bought  a  belated  wedding-ring 
and  was  trying  it  on  the  finger  of  his  bride. 

"  You  have  worn  a  ring  on  this  finger  be- 
fore," he  said,  feeling  the  little  depression 
that  encircled  Milly's  third  finger.  "  What 
sort  of  a  ring  was  it  ?  I  like  to  know  all 
about  you,  how  you  looked  and  what  you 
used  to  wear,  before  I  ever  saw  you." 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  171 

This  was  Milly's  opportunity,  as  if  offered 
her  by  Heaven.  But  it  had  come  too  sud- 
denly, almost  threateningly  ;  she  shrunk  from 
it,  and  the  next  moment  it  was  gone. 

Something  within  her,  perhaps  the  habit 
of  concealment,  confirmed  through  months 
of  perilous  practice,  seemed  to  answer  for 
her,  while  her  stunned  conscience  listened 
amazed. 

"  It  was  n't  a  ring  I  cared  for  ;  I  took  it 
off  because  it  was  too  small  for  me." 

After  that  the  day  passed  hopelessly  for 
her.  She  was  under  the  spell  of  her  failure, 
and  of  Frank's  awful  unconsciousness.. 

More  and  more  she  felt  his  standards  op- 
press her.  The  nameless  little  refinements 
of  his  manner  were  her  despair  ;  she  could 
not  meet  them  out  of  any  social  practice  in 
the  past,  nor  with  the  simplicity  of  inno- 
cence and  faith.  She  longed  to  escape,  back 
into  the  miserable  muddle  of  her  old  life 
where  she  had  felt  at  home  —  anywhere 
away  from  this  horrible  masquerading. 

As  for  Frank,  he  was  the  husband  now. 
He  was  studying  his  new  possession  in  the 
light  of  old,  persistent  standards  —  those 
standards  which  Milly  instinctively  feared. 


172     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

He  studied  her  because  he  could  not  get  near 
enough  to  her  to  lose  himself  in  her  attrac- 
tion for  him.  Something  clouded  the  attrac- 
tion ;  something  undefinable  between  them 
that  embarrassed  him,  and  balked  him  of 
all  the  allusions,  the  fond  recapitulations, 
the  exchange  of  ideals  and  purposes,  which 
should  have  glorified  the  day. 

She  has  all  that  the  first  woman  had,  — 
youth,  beauty,  purity,  and  helplessness, — 
Frank  thought,  while  she  dressed  for  the  ball 
and  he  gazed  at  her  shyly  with  beating  heart. 
She  is  a  girl  without  a  family  and  without  a 
history.  Her  husband  shall  give  her  both. 


V. 

FRIDAY,  the  anniversary  of  the  Assem- 
bly Ball,  was  general  sweeping-day  at  Mrs. 
Dansken's.  Ann  had  taken  cold,  or  so  she 
chose  to  assert,  perhaps  as  an  excuse  for  an 
irritability  that  vented  itself  in  savage  ex- 
cesses of  work.  Milly's  help  was  wanting, 
but  Ann  wrought  for  both.  She  worried 
her  tasks,  growling  like  a  dog  with  a  bone 
when  her  mistress  attempted  to  take  a  share. 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  173 

It  was  matter  for  curiosity  for  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken and  for  solitary  headshakings  for  Ann 
that  Milly's  trunk  still  stood  in  the  hall, 
a  silent  postulate,  no  one  inquiring  for  it, 
and  no  sign  of  the  owner's  interest  in  its 
disposal. 

"  Don't  ye  be  frettin',"  said  Ann,  who 
was  doing  all  the  fretting  herself.  "  She  '11 
not  be  long  parted  from  her  clothes.  Belike 
she  's  sick  like  meself,  with  thrampin'  thini 
snawy  streets." 

Mrs.  Dansken,  in  the  Nile -green  silk, 
looked  and  felt  every  year  of  her  age  as 
she  took  her  place  at  table,  opposite  Hugh 
Williams,  to  give  him  his  late  supper.  He 
had  just  presented  himself,  although  the 
stage  had  been  in  an  hour.  He  had  not 
seen  his  partner.  Mrs.  Dansken  had  the 
field  to  herself,  but  she  took  no  advantage. 
She  gave  Williams  the  history  of  the  house- 
hold during  his  absence  from  a  point  of  view 
that  was  magnanimous,  considering  the  sore- 
ness of  the  narrator. 

"  And  where  is  the  girl  now  ?  "  Williams 
asked. 

"  She  is  at  the  Sisters'." 

"  No,  she  is  n't ;  because  I  've  just  been 


174  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

there  myself,  to  make  some  inquiries  about 
her.  I  got  on  the  track  of  that  brother  of 
hers  —  turns  out  to  be  her  husband."  Mrs. 
Dansken  listened  with  relief  and  entire  con- 
viction toWilliams's  account  of  what  he  had 
learned  about  Milly. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  give  Master  Frank  a  dose, 
if  he  needs  one,"  he  ended.  "  We  '11  have 
him  back  here  within  the  week.  You  don't 
suppose  he  could  have  sent  her  the  gown  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dansken  flouted  the  idea.  "Is  it 
like  Frank  Embury  to  be  bribing  servant 
girls  with  cheap  finery  ?  "  Mrs.  Dansken's 
survey  of  Frank's  purchase  had  been  a  hasty 
and  prejudiced  one. 

"  No,  of  course  that  's  out  of  the  ques- 
tion," Williams  agreed.  "  She  has  4  smiled 
and  retreated  '  with  somebody  else." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Dansken.  "  Ann  insists  she  is  all  right  — 
but  then,  they  always  stand  up  for  one  an- 
other." 

"  I  'm  perfectly  satisfied,  myself,"  said 
Williams.  "  The  Sisters  had  no  idea  they 
were  giving  it  away  —  I  'm  keeping  you 
from  your  party."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Are  n't  you  going  ?  " 


THE    CATASTROPHE.  175 

"  No ;  I  've  done  my  duty,  and  it  seems 
there  was  no  hurry  after  all.  And  now  I  'm 
going  to  sleep." 

Williams  showed  the  brisk  confidence  of 
an  ally  newly  arrived  with  fresh  informa- 
tion on  the  scene  of  old  complications.  Mrs. 
Dansken  was  doubtful  that  the  last  word 
had  been  said ;  but  she  knew  herself  to  be 
helpless,  and  was  glad  to  leave  the  matter  in 
his  hands. 

She  was  not  happy  at  the  thought  of 
meeting  Frank,  with  the  difference  between 
them  unhealed.  The  keystone  had  fallen 
from  the  arch  of  domestic  unity.  She  was 
no  longer  sure  of  the  allegiance  of  her  boys. 
It  might  transpire  that  a  faction  of  separa- 
tists had  secretly  been  forming  in  Frank's 
support ;  and  a  revolted  favorite  has  ever 
been  held  the  most  dangerous  of  private 
enemies. 

It  was  a  relief  to  find  that  at  half-past 
nine  o'clock  —  the  Assembly  assembled  early 
—  Frank  was  not  there. 

The  ladies  were  all  on  the  floor.  Mrs. 
Dansken  noticed  the  exchange  of  emphatic 
looks,  the  occasional  low-spoken  words,  as 
they  crossed  each  other's  orbits  in  the  dance. 


176     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

The  overstock  of  young  men  were  whisper- 
ing and  smiling  queerly  in  little  knots 
against  the  wall.  Strode  was  waltzing  with 
a  Mrs.  Paul,  one  of  the  new  ladies  in  the 
camp,  still  under  consideration  by  the  other 
ladies,  but  entirely  acceptable,  it  seemed, 
to  Mr.  Strode.  The  lady  was  in  a  thorough- 
going mood  to-night ;  she  neglected  even  the 
business  of  waltzing  for  energetic  conversa- 
tion with  her  partner,  and  seemed  impatient 
of  the  coolness  of  his  replies. 

"  He  intends  to  capture  the  room  —  take 
us  all  by  storm."  Mrs.  Dansken  caught 
these  words  as  the  pair  swept  by  her. 
"  Good  idea  —  before  you  ladies  have  a 
chance  to  combine." 

"  He  's  too  late,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Paul. 
"  It  does  n't  take  us  long,  I  can  assure  you, 
when  we  've  got  a  cause." 

Strode  laughed  and  stooped  to  murmur 
something  in  her  ear,  with  a  glance  at  Mrs. 
Dansken. 

"Does  n't  she  know?"  Mrs.  Paul  ex- 
claimed aloud.  "  How  very  queer !  Some- 
body must  tell  her  at  once." 

The  name  of  her  escort,  Mr.  Blashfield, 
was  the  only  one  on  Mrs.  Dansken's  card ; 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  177 

but  now  the  waltz  was  over  and  she  found 
herself  in  the  midst  of  her  accustomed  cir- 
cle. She  perceived  that  Strode  was  crossing 
the  room  with  Mrs.  Paul,  and  instantly 
fixed  her  features  in  an  expression  of  uncon- 
sciousne'ss  until  they  were  at  her  side,  when 
she  turned  in  effusive  surprise.  But  Mrs. 
Paul  proceeded  at  once  to  business. 

"  Mrs.  Dansken,  have  none  of  these  gen- 
tlemen told  you  of  the  introduction  we  are 
to  be  favored  with  to-night  ?  They  are  very 
considerate,  I  'm  sure,  but  it  's  no  time  now 
to  spare  one  another's  feelings.  We  are  to 
be  taken  by  surprise,  it  seems." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Dansken. 

"I  think  it  's  perfectly  abominable  he 
should  n't  have  told  you !  I  'm  afraid  you 
don't  look  after  your  young  gentlemen,  Mrs. 
Dansken.  You  are  too  busy  making  them 
comfortable." 

Allusions  to  her  professional  hospitality 
were  not  pleasing  to  Mrs.  Dansken,  but  she 
merely  smiled,  and  asked  if  it  were  Mr. 
Strode  who  needed  looking  after. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Strode  can  take  care  of  him- 
self, I  think.  He  is  n't  going  to  be  run  off 
with  by  anybody's  pretty  waitress.  It  's 


178     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

that  poor  young  Embury  and  your  Annie, 
Allie,  whatever  her  name  is  :  they  were  mar- 
ried last  night  —  goodness  knows  where  ! 
He  's  going  to  present  her  to  us  this  evening. 
Do  you  mean  to  say  you  had  n't  the  faintest 
suspicion  what  was  going  on  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dansken,  gallantly 
hugging  to  her  breast  her  deep  chagrin,  "  I  Ve 
had  these  young  persons  on  my  mind  all 
day,  especially  '  my  '  Annie,  as  you  call  her. 
I  had  my  suspicions,  but  I  was  ashamed  of 
them."  She  could  not  help  a  little  huski- 
ness  in  her  voice.  "  But  it  seems  one  need 
n't  be  ashamed  of  anything.  I  'm  happy  to 
say  nothing  that  girl  could  do  could  possibly 
surprise  me." 

"  But  it  is  too  bad  about  Frank  Embury ! 
And  the  worst  of  it  is,  we  can't  punish  her 
without  punishing  him  too.  I  think  it  's  the 
brazenest  performance  I  ever  heard  of  !  The 
question  is,  how  are  we  to  receive  her  —  as 
what  she  is,  or  what  he  wants  to  make  us 
believe  she  is  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Paul. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  what  she  is  !  She  is  his 
wife  now  —  let  him  look  out  for  her."  Mrs. 
Dansken  disdained  the  applause  that  fol- 
lowed this  speech.  It  was  bitter  to  her  that 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  179 

the  catastrophe  of  her  household  should  be 
paraded  in  this  way,  and  that  a  Mrs.  Paul 
should  be  the  one  to  inform  her  of  it. 

"  He  's  quite  capable  of  it,"  she  went  on, 
her  smarting  eyes  fixed  on  a  far  corner  of 
the  room.  "  He  has  quite  circumvented  me. 
I  begin  to  think  I  'in  a  perfect  child." 

"  I  don't  see  why  Embury  has  n't  a  right 
to  bring  his  wife.  I  should  want  to  bring 
mine,  if  I  had  one,"  said  Strode,  judicially. 
"  Let  them  have  their  dance,  I  say.  Em- 
bury has  paid  for  his  share  of  the  floor." 

"  They  may  have  the  whole  of  it  for  me," 
said  Mrs.  Dansken.  She  asked  Blashfield 
to  give  her  his  arm,  and  he  took  her  away 
out  of  the  discussion. 

*'  She  's  all  right,"  commented  Mrs.  Paul, 
looking  after  her.  "  She  will  never  forgive 
him  —  and  I  would  n't  either.  Any  young 
man  may  be  foolish,  but  to  marry  her,  and 
brazen  it  out  to  our  very  faces  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  take  me  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Dansken.  "  I  believe  I  'm  not  much 
of  a  fighter  after  all.  Mrs.  Paul  seems  to 
have  taken  the  whole  thing  upon  her  shoul- 
ders. She  will  see  that  justice  is  done  ;  I 
can't  say  I  care  to  staj^  and  look  on.  It  will 


180     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

be  thumbs  down  with  every  woman  in  the 
room." 

"  I  ain't  anxious  to  see  it  myself,"  said 
Blashfield.  "But  don't  you  think— had 
n't  we  better  stand  by  him,  Mrs.  Dansken? 
Frank  's  a  pretty  good  boy." 

Mrs.  Dansken  gave  him  a  look.  "You 
can  come  back  and  stand  by  him,  if  you 
wish  to.  I  think  you  '11  have  your  hands 
full." 

They  were  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  op- 
posite the  main  entrance,  when  the  whisper 
went  round,  "  There  they  come !  " 

Blashfield  fairly  blenched.  He  fell  back, 
leaving  Mrs.  Dansken  to  face  the  trium- 
phant young  couple,  advancing;  Embury 
looking  handsomer  than  she  had  ever  seen 
him,  with  a  girl  on  his  arm  who  was  the 
apotheosis  of  Milly. 

All  his  personal  grievances  had  been  out- 
lawed in  that  day  of  Frank's  seclusion  with 
his  wife  —  the  day  that  had  lasted  years. 
He  saw  Mrs.  Dansken  before  him,  as  in 
dreams  one  sees  a  friend  from  whom  one  has 
long  been  separated.  He  remembered  only 
that  she  had  been  kind  — that  now,  if  ever, 
she  must  be  kind.  He  looked  at  her  ear- 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  181 

nestly,  insistently,  imploringly,  seeing  that 
her  face  remained  cold.  He  held  out  his 
hand.  She  swerved  from  him,  and  bore  off 
Blashfield  with  her  to  a  bench  against  the 
wall. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  to  me  one  moment  — 
without  that  girl." 

Blashfield  obediently  crossed  the  room  to 
the  place  where  Frank  had  seated  his  wife. 
The  neighboring  ladies  had  instantly  moved 
away  ;  he  was  standing  at  her  side,  covering 
her  isolation.  He  had  taken  her  fan  and 
was  beating  back  the  bright  hair  from  her 
temples,  not  daring  to  look  at  her  now  that 
the  ordeal  was  upon  them. 

He  could  have  embraced  Blashfield  for 
his  bow  to  Milly  and  his  matter-of-course 
manner  to  them  both,  though  the  little  man 
was  pink  with  embarrassment.  He  attempted 
no  foolish  congratulations,  but  asked  Milly, 
quite  naturally,  if  she  were  well,  and  said, 
with  a  deeper  blush,  that  they  missed  her 
awfully. 

Milly  came  out  of  her  stony  silence  to 
say,  "Mr.  Blashfield,  would  you  give  my 
love  to  Ann,  please,  and  tell  her  "  —  A  look 
from  Frank  disturbed  her  and  she  stopped. 


182     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Mrs.  Embury."  Again 
Frank  would  have  liked  to  embrace  poor 
Blashfield,  who  was  having  a  desperate  time 
of  it.  "Ann  is  a  regular  funeral  in  the 
house  ever  since  you  left.  Embury,  Mrs. 
Dansken  wants  to  speak  with  you.  Will 
you  let  me  stay  with  Milly  ?  "  This  was 
somehow  even  better  than  the  "  Mrs.  Em- 
bury ; "  a  choking  feeling  in  her  throat 
made  Milly  put  down  her  head. 

"  Mrs.  Dansken  might  have  spoken  to  me 
a  moment  ago,"  said  Frank.  "  She  did  n't 
seem  particularly  anxious  then." 

"  She  was  taken  by  surprise,  you  know. 
You  'd  better  go  and  speak  to  her,  Embury. 
Don't  you  think  he  had?"  He  addressed 
himself  to  Milly,  who  turned  her  face  away 
and  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Dansken." 

Blashfield  looked  unhappy.  He  rose  up 
and  bowed  again  to  Milly.  "  Take  her 
away,  for  God's  sake ! "  he  muttered  to 
Frank,  apart.  "  She  has  n't  a  friend  in  the 
room." 

Frank  was  cool  and  savage. 

"  It  would  be  all  right  if  the  women  were 
n't  here.  But  you  can't  fight  women  with  a 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  183 

woman,  you  know  —  and  your  wife.  Take 
her  out  of  it." 

"  We  '11  have  a  dance  first,"  said  Frank. 
u  But  I  thank  you,  Blashfield." 

"  I  'd  like  to  dance  with  her  myself,"  said 
Blashfield,  "  but  I  've  got  to  take  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken  home." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken?" 

"  She  is  afraid  there  's  going  to  be  a  row. 
Come  and  speak  to  her,  Frank ;  you  ought 
to,  for  your  wife's  sake." 

"  For  my  wife's  sake !  "  Frank  echoed 
scornfully.  "  I  must  go  back  to  my  wjfe. 
Thank  you,  Blashfield." 

"  Blashfield  is  the  flag  of  truce,"  the  la- 
dies said.  But  the  flag  of  truce  disappeared 
a  moment  later  with  Mrs.  Dansken,  and  the 
ladies  understood  that  the  terms  of  surren- 
der were  off. 

Frank  and  Milly  took  their  places  as  third 
couple  in  the  lanciers.  He  had  not  dared 
to  ask  her  if  she  could  dance,  but  she  showed 
no  hesitation  and  bore  herself  to  his  entire 
admiration.  The  manner  of  the  perfect 
servant,  which  Mrs.  Dansken  had  approved, 
did  not  forsake  her  now  ;  she  stood  up  as 


184     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

calmly  as  if  she  had  been  behind  her  mis- 
tress's chair,  with  the  double  file  of  laugh- 
ing young  men's  faces  in  front  of  her. 

"  My  brave  girl  —  my  beauty,"  Frank 
whispered,  and  the  next  moment  he  saw 
that  they  were  deserted.  The  set  had  melted 
away  and  they  stood  in  their  places  alone. 
He  whirled  Milly  off  into  another  set  that 
was  forming ;  that  too  dissolved,  and  left 
them,  objects  of  commiseration  or  of  deri- 
sion to  the  room. 

Then  they  took  their  seats.  "  I  wish  we 
could  go  away,"  Milly  said. 

^  We  will  go,  after  a  while.  I  will  not 
skulk  out  of  the  room  with  you  and  leave  a 
trail  of  sneers  behind  us.  Who  are  they  ? 
—  a  lot  of  washed  -  out  old  women ;  and 
where  did  they  come  from,  I  should  like  to 
know?  Ladies  don't  assemble  in  mining 
camps,  as  a  rule."  Frank  stopped,  and 
Milly  said  :  — 

"  /  'm  not  a  lady.  I  never  pretended  to 
be." 

"  And  they  do  pretend,  that  is  just  the 
difference."  He  was  more  sure  of  himself, 
now  that  the  case  was  simple  —  his  bride  to 
buckler  against  the  world.  "  We  will  have 
one  waltz  together.  Can  you  waltz,  Milly  ?  " 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  185 

Milly  smiled  faintly  in  reminiscence. 
"  What  should  I  care  about  the  music  if 
I  M  never  danced  to  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Ah,  that  night !  Poor  Milly  !  —  Hea- 
vens, how  beautiful  you  look  !  You  are  my 
Cinderella  after  all.  We  '11  make  those 
proud  sisters  own  up  who  is  the  belle  of  the 
ball.  Wait  till  the  men  have  their  turn." 

Frank  was  not  himself  to-night.  He  was 
not  in  the  habit  of  such  speeches  as  these, 
but  the  form  of  attack  he  was  meeting  called 
forth  all  that  was  cruelest  and  coarsest  in 
his  nature.  The  company  had  now  got  down 
to  the  level  of  primitive  instincts.  It  was 
simply  a  tussle  for  supremacy. 

When  the  waltz  began  Frank  rose  and 
took  Milly  by  the  hand.  Her  hand  was 
cold.  He  looked  at  her  beautiful  face  and 
saw  that  she  was  colorless,  except  for  her 
bright  hair  and  her  opaque,  gem-like  eyes, 
on  which  the  light  floated  as  on  dark  green 
water. 

"  Can  you  go  through  with  it  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Can  I  waltz?"  asked  Milly.  "You 
will  see." 

"  What  are  those  poor  things  going  to  do 


186     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

now  ? "  Mrs.  Paul  exclaimed  as  they  took 
their  places.  "  Does  he  imagine  that  she 
can  dance  ?  I  propose  we  give  them  the 
floor." 

It  was  yielded  them  by  tacit  consent, 
and  they  floated  over  it,  a  pair  of  dancers 
who  might  have  been  chosen  to  incarnate 
the  spirit  of  the  waltz. 

"That  's  business,"  Strode  murmured, 
and  then  not  another  word  was  spoken.  The 
company  were  reduced  to  the  attitude  of 
mere  spectators ;  every  eye  following  the 
exalted,  dreamlike  motions  of  the  beautiful 
young  pair. 

This  was  Milly's  triumph.  Whether  it  was 
worth  the  cost  Frank  did  not  ask  himself. 
He  flung  himself  into  it  with  an  aching 
forecast  that  such  henceforth  would  be  the 
nature  of  his  wife's  triumphs  —  conquered 
by  strife,  and  in  a  field  open  to  all  com- 
petitors without  subtle  distinctions.  A  per- 
fect physical  endowment ;  a  sense  of  rhythm  ; 
muscles  true  to  the  quiver  of  a  nerve ;  a 
"  calm,  uneager  face."  The  soul  of  the  waltz 
passed,  in  anguished  ecstasy,  before  the 
silent  company,  and  the  hearts  of  the  women 
were  pained  and  the  men  were  at  Milly's 
feet. 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  187 

But  none  the  less  was  she  doomed. 

"  Really,  one  would  think  it  was  profes- 
sional," said  Mrs.  Paul.  "How  does  she 
keep  herself  in  practice  ?  " 

"  By  Jove,  she  's  stunning  !  It  does  n't 
look  as  if  she  needed  much  practice,"  said 
Strode. 

Such  remarks  did  not  help  Milly's  case, 
especially  as  a  majority  of  the  young  men 
carried  their  defection  to  the  point  of  going 
over  to  her  in  a  body,  asking  to  be  intro- 
duced, and  crowding  her  card  with  their 
names. 

The  ladies  were  beaten  from  the  field. 
Those  who  had  escorts  summoned  them,  and 
at  eleven  o'clock  Milly  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  room. 

The  best  of  the  men  had  gone  with  the 
ladies.  It  needed  but  a  glance  to  show 
Frank  that  the  tables  were  turned,  and  that 
the  retreat  of  the  women  had  been  a  stroke 
of  vengeance.  The  men  whose  names  were 
on  Mijly's  list  were  not  such  as  he  intended 
that  his  wife  should  dance  with. 

When  it  was  seen  that  he  was  taking  his 
beautiful  waltzer  away,  a  crowd  of  protes- 
tants  gathered  about  them,  reproaching  her 


188     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

familiarly  and  joking  with  Frank  in  a  way 
that  drove  him  wild.  Some  of  them  had 
been  drinking.  Decidedly  Strode  was  not 
himself.  He  had  disposed  of  Mrs.  Paul  at 
her  door  and  had  hastened  back,  pausing  for 
a  parenthetical  glass  at  the  bar,  to  confirm 
his  indorsement  of  Milly.  It  was  he  who 
followed  up  the  retreat,  who  intercepted  the 
pair  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and  tipsily 
demanded  his  dance  with  the  bride.  The 
stairs  went  up  from  the  office  of  the  hotel, 
where  a  crowd  of  men  were  laughing  wit- 
nesses of  the  scene. 

"  Some  other  time,  Strode,"  said  Frank, 
controlling  himself. 

"  Wha'  's  your  hurry  ?  Have  n't  you  cut 
her  out  and  got  you'  brand  on  her?  "  Strode 
muttered,  lapsing  into  cowboy  slang. 

They  had  reached  the  first  landing,  Strode 
pursuing.  Frank  turned  upon  him.  "  Clear 
out,  before  I  kick  you  downstairs." 

Strode  braced  himself  and  Frank  took 
him  by  the  collar  and  flung  him  backwards 
off  the  landing.  It  was  not  far  to  fall. 
Strode  was  up  and  at  the  bedroom  door, 
sobered  and  white  with  rage,  as  Frank  shut 
the  door  upon  his  wife  and  faced  about  to 
meet  him. 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  189 

Strode  looked  into  his  eyes.  "  You  've 
got  to  apologize,"  he  muttered. 

Frank  laughed  at  this  proposition  follow- 
ing the  scene  on  the  stairs.  He  was  per- 
fectly cool.  "  Do  you  want  any  more  of 
the  same  sort?  "  he  asked. 

"  When  will  you  meet  me  like  a  gentle- 
man?" 

"  Like  an  idiot,  you  mean !  Gentlemen 
don't  fight  duels,  off  the  stage." 

"Gentlemen,  with  us,  don't  use  their 
fists,"  said  the  Arkansas  boy.  "  You  are  a 
coward  !  " 

"  Am  I  ?  You  shall  prove  it  —  any  ridic- 
ulous way  you  like,  and  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  Twelve  o'clock,  then,  out  here  in  the  lot 
back  of  the  hotel.  Who  's  your  friend  ?  " 

Frank  thought  a  moment.  "  Blashfield," 
he  said.  "  You  need  n't  make  a  noise  about 
it." 

"  I  think  you  will  squeal  first,"  said 
Strode. 

"  Hound  !  "  said  Frank,  looking  after  him. 

He  went  into  his  room  and  took  Milly  in 
his  lap,  putting  his  head  down  upon  her 
shoulder.  She  laid  her  hands  timidly  one 
on  each  side  of  his  temples,  and  felt  the  hot 


190     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

veins  throbbing.  Her  heart  was  very  soft 
towards  him,  her  wonderful  young  lover,  her 
protector,  whom  she  found  more  formidable 
than  all  the  dangers  he  had  tried  to  save  her 
from. 

"  He  'd  taken  too  much,  had  n't  he  ?  "  she 
whispered. 

Frank  shuddered. 

"You  ain't  afraid  he  '11  make  you  trou- 
ble ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  He  gripped  her  to 
him,  gave  her  a  little  shake,  and  put  her 
down  from  his  knees. 

"  Why  would  n't  you  let  me  dance  ?  "  she 
asked  presently,  following  him  with  her  eyes 
as  he  strode  about  the  room.  "  You  was  n't 
jealous,  was  you  ?  " 

He  threw  up  his  head  like  a  creature  that 
feels  itself  stifling.  It  was  clear  that  Milly 
had  not  perceived  the  nature  of  her  success, 
and  was  immensely  supported  by  it.  Her 
exhilaration  was  even  more  dreadful  to  him 
than  the  incomprehension  he  had  been  beat- 
ing himself  against  all  day. 

"  Milly,"  he  said,  "  did  I  ever  show  you 
my  mother's  picture  ?  " 

"  Is  it  that  one  in  a  leather  frame  on  your 
bureau  ?  " 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  191 

Again,  was  it  possible  he  could  be  sensi- 
tive on  so  slight  a  point  as  that  Milly  should 
be  already  intimate  with  his  personal  belong- 
ings in  her  domestic  capacity  ?  "  Yes,"  he 
said,  with  a  sigh.  Once  he  had  compared 
this  beautiful  girl  to  Enid,  who  was  so  sweet 
and  serviceable,  and  had  sympathized  with 
Geraint  in  his  desire  to  "  kiss  the  tender 
little  thumb  that  crossed  the  trencher  as  she 
laid  it  down  ; "  though  as  a  matter  of  fact 
Milly's  thumb  was  neither  little  nor  tender, 
and  she  had  been  instructed  by  Mrs.  Dan- 
sken  never  to  let  it  cross  the  trencher. 

"  My  mother  was  never  anything  but  kind 
to  any  living  soul,  I  believe.  Do  you  think 
you  could  be  fond  of  her,  Milly?  Have  you 
looked  at  her  face  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Milly,  listlessly.  "  She  looks 
older,"  — she  hesitated,  —  "  but  that,  maybe, 
is  the  way  she  's  dressed." 

"The  way  she  is  dressed?  Why,  how 
should  she  be  dressed  ?  "  Did  Milly  suppose 
his  mother  wore  her  hair  in  a  fuzz  on  her 
forehead,  like  Mrs.  Dansken,  and  dressed  in 
Nile-green  silk?  Then  he  remembered  that 
the  picture  had  been  taken  when  she  was  in 
mourning.  But  it  did  not  matter.  He  felt 


192  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

as  if  he  should  never  speak  of  his  mother 
again. 

Milly  was  silent,  feeling  that  she  had 
missed  the  right  words,  as  usual.  She  had 
not  been  thinking  much  of  what  she  was 
saying.  She  had  not  got  as  far  as  Frank's 
mother  yet.  Frank  saw  that  she  had  sunk 
into  that  attitude  of  stolid  watchfulness, 
with  something  reproachful  in  it,  that  all 
day  had  been  his  despair.  Her  triumph  was 
cold.  He  looked  at  her,  fair  as  she  was, 
with  a  face  of  that  simple  but  elusive  type 
the  masters  felt  for,  with  broad,  soft  touches, 
in  palest  chalks,  on  the  margins  of  bolder 
conceptions ;  he  thought  of  Andrea  del 
Sarto,  of  Lydgate,  of  all  the  men  who  had 
wrecked  their  lives  in  such  frail  craft  as  this. 
He  thought  of  that  nameless  youth  who  was 
surprised  and  stabbed  as  he  stepped  from 
a  gondola  after  a  night's  delirious  drifting 
—  the  youth  who  boasted  that  he  had 
"  lived."  But  he  could  not  find  the  com- 
fort of  a  prototype,  either  in  romantic  real- 
ity or  in  realistic  romance.  He  was  no 
Andrea,  no  Lydgate ;  he  was  not  even  a 
youth  who  had  "  lived  ;  "  he  was  merely  the 
husband  of  Milly.  As  for  the  duel,  it  was 


THE  CATASTROPHE,  193 

of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest.  Last  night  he 
had  married  Milly ;  to-night,  driven  by  the 
same  fantastic  chain  of  tragic  common- 
places, he  was  to  fight  a  duel  for  her  sake ; 
or  to  go  through  the  form.  He  most  cer- 
tainly did  not  intend  to  hit  Strode,  and  he 
doubted  on  general  principles  that  Strode 
would  be  able  to  hit  him,  should  the  affair 
culminate  in  their  pointing  pistols  at  each 
other. 

At  a  quarter  to  twelve  Blashfield  came  to 
the  door.  "  Strode  will  apologize,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  will  give  him  a  chance." 

"  I  '11  give  him  every  chance  when  we  get 
on  the  ground." 

"  He  is  downstairs  now.  He  has  come  to 
himself.  There  's  no  sense  in  this  meeting, 
you  know." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  It  's  a  quar- 
ter to  twelve  now.  Let  him  meet  me  where 
he  said  he  would  and  we  will  shake  hands. 
No,  I  won't  go  downstairs,  Blashfield.  I 
shall  punch  his  head  if  I  do." 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  reasonable  ?  *' 

"I  have  been  reasonable.  Strode  was 
tipsy.  Let  him  say  so,  when  the  time  comes, 
and  ask  my  pardon.  I  'm  not  going  to  hunt 
him  up." 


194     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  I  11  bring  him  up  here." 

"  Thank  you,  I  've  no  use  for  him  up 
here.  Keep  an  eye  on  him,  Blasshy,  if 
you  're  afraid  he  won't  stay  with  it." 

"  He  is  n't  my  man." 

"  Keep  with  him  all  the  same.  I  '11  meet 
you  at  the  barber's." 

The  quarter-hour  was  passed.  Frank  had 
said  to  Milly  that  he  would  have  to  go  out 
for  a  few  moments  ;  it  was  the  little  engage- 
ment he  had  told  her  he  would  have  to  sit 
up  for.  He  would  tell  her  about  it  and 
make  her  laugh,  when  he  returned.  He  him- 
self laughed  as  he  kissed  her. 

He  was  leaving  the  hotel  when  he  met 
Hugh  Williams,  beaming  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"The  dance  lets  out  early  to-night,"  he 
remarked  pleasantly.  "  I  did  n't  know  Mrs. 
Dansken  was  at  home  until  I  stumbled  over 
Blashfield." 

Frank  decided,  after  a  look  at  Williams, 
that  Blashfield  had  kept  the  meeting  quiet. 

"  Well,  how 's  everything  since  I  've  been 
away?  I  've  been  asleep  for  two  hours. 
Mrs.  Dansken  gave  me  some  supper  —  and, 
by  the  way,  I  'in  mightily  pleased  that  girl 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  195 

has  gone."  Williams  had  concluded  to  give 
Frank  his  "  dose "  while  he  could  speak 
without  apparent  knowledge  of  all  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  absence,  since  it  would 
never  do  to  let  Frank  suppose  he  had  been 
talked  over. 

"What  girl?" 

"  Come  out  here,  Frank,"  said  Williams  ; 
and  when  they  were  in  the  street  he  said, 
"You  know  who  I  mean  —  the  Perfect 
Treasure.  I  met  the  partner  of  her  brother. 
The  brother  turns  out  to  be  a  husband.  He 
was  n't  a  particularly  good  one,  it  seems, 
and  so  she  hedges  a  little  and  calls  him  "  — 

"  It  's  a  lie." 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  lie  myself,  Frank." 
Williams  would  not  look  at  his  friend  to  see 
how  he  was  taking  it.  "  I  'm  not  much  in 
the  habit  of  packing  lies  about,  especially 
lies  about  a  woman,  so  I  stepped  round  to 
the  Sisters',"  he  went  on,  trying  to  speak 
naturally  and  in  an  unpremeditated  way  — 
"  who  took  care  of  her,  you  know,  when  her 
child  was  born  "  — 

Frank  clutched  him  by  the  shoulders. 
"  Stop  !  "  he  panted, "  you  are  talking  about 
my  wife." 


196         THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

The  two  men  reeled  apart  and  stared  at 
each  other. 

"Curses  on  it,  why  did  n't  you  tell 
me?" 

"  Why  did  you  open  on  me,  before  I  could 
speak  ?  Out  with  it  now,  to  the  last  word !  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  your  wife, 
Frank." 

"  I  '11  have  it  out  of  you,  I  say." 

Blashfield,  who  had  been  waiting  for  his 
principal,  caught  sight  of  him  and  joined 
them.  He  gripped  him  by  the  elbow.  "  Do 
you  know  what  time  it  is  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  I  '11  be  with  you  in  a  moment,  Blash- 
field ;  I  want  to  speak  with  Williams  —  I  '11 
be  around." 

Blashfield  gave  his  arm  another  squeeze 
and  ran  off  to  the  rendezvous. 

"Frank,"  said  Williams,  "I  can't  take 
those  words  back,  but  you  should  allow  for 
my  ignorance.  I  've  been  gone  a  thousand 
years,  it  seems." 

"  You  can  say  you  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  those  words  are  false." 

Williams  did  not  speak. 

"Your  silence,  do  you  know,  is  insulting." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  your  wife, 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  197 

Frank,"  Williams  repeated,  "  except  that 
she  is  a  very  handsome  girl  and  I  hope  you 
will  be  happy." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  mention  her  beauty." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  not  talk  any  more 
to-night.  There  's  all  to-inorrow,  you  know." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  talk,  but  I  think 
there  is  something  more  for  you  to  say." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  You  will  finish  what  you  began  to  tell  me, 
and  then  you  will  say  whether  you  believe  it 
is  true." 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  I  believe  ? 
Go  to  your  wife  and  find  out  the  truth." 

"  Go  to  my  wife,  and  ask  her  if  she  has 
had  a  child?" 

"  God  help  you,  Frank.  Go  to  her  and 
learn  to  know  your  wife  ;  and  be  thank- 
ful, whatever  she  is,  that  she  is  no  worse. 
You  've  got  to  know  the  truth,  sooner  or 
later.  It  's  all  over  the  camp  to-night." 

"  What  is  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Go  to  her,  man.  Don't  ask  me.  For 
God's  sake,  am  I  to  tell  you  she  has  been  a 
mother  ;  that  her  child  was  born  at  the  hos- 
pital ;  that  its  father  deserted  her  before  it 
was  born  ?  I  'd  have  kept  it  from  you  with 


198     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

my  life,  but  I  told  Mrs.  Dansken  two  hours 
ago,  before  she  went  to  the  ball.  It  's  all 
over  the  town  by  now,  God  forgive  me  !  " 

Frank  could  not  have  been  sure  that  he 
heard  the  last  words  of  his  friend,  or  that 
he  was  the  man  who  was  being  led  up  and 
down  the  street,  brokenly,  like  one  drugged 
or  intoxicated. 

The  rage  had  all  gone  out  of  him,  the 
flame  that  had  driven  him  for  the  past  five 
days,  since  the  evening  he  was  published  be- 
fore the  household.  In  its  place  was  a  light- 
headed calmness,  in  which  he  could  think  of 
Milly  with  a  strange  indifference. 

"  Have  you  got  any  money  about  you  ?  " 
were  the  first  words  he  said. 

"Any  money?"  said  Williams.  "Do 
you  want  money  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  some  money.  I  want  a 
good  deal.  Do  you  know  it  's  my  wedding 
night?" 

Williams  stopped  him  in  the  street  and 
fairly  shook  him,  to  get  his  attention. 

"  Frank,  do  you  mean  she  is  n't  your  wife 

yet?" 

"  Yes,  she  's  my  wife.  I  was  married  last 
night." 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  199 

"  Then,  it  is  too  late  "  - 

"  Too  late  to  desert  her  ?  She  's  been  de- 
serted once,  you  say  ?  " 

Williams  groaned,  and  they  resumed  their 
aimless  walk. 

"  Did  you  say  you  had  n't  any  money  in 
your  clothes  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  two  dollars  and  a  half." 

"  Don't  get  excited,"  said  Frank  ;  "  I  'm 
not  out  of  my  head.  I  'm  going  upstairs  a 
moment.  You  need  n't  follow  me.  Can't  a 
man  speak  to  his  wife  ?  " 

He  went  up  swiftly  to  the  door  of  his 
room.  There  was  something  he  had  yet  to 
do;  it  was  rather  a  crazy  thought,  but  it 
chimed  in  with  his  fancy  that  he  must  not 
be  ungentlemanly,  whatever  he  meant  by 
that.  He  stood  a  moment  listening  by  the 
door.  The  room  was  quiet.  Could  she  be 
asleep  on  her  wedding  night  —  his  bride 
without  a  history ;  the  girl  who  within  the 
year  had  suffered,  in  poverty  and  deser- 
tion, the  agony  of  motherhood  ;  who  had 
buried  her  child ;  who  had  waltzed  in  his 
arms  that  night,  a  spectacle — how  had  he 
paraded  his  shame !  This  was  why  the 
ladies  had  retreated  and  the  men  had  stayed, 


200     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

those  who  were  suited  to  the  company  of  his 
bride.  He  prayed  that  she  might  be  asleep. 

Milly  had  been  lying  dressed  and  awake 
on  the  bed  when  she  first  heard  her  hus- 
band's step,  and  knew  that  the  moment  she 
had  been  drifting  upon  had  come,  and  that 
she  must  meet  it  at  last  with  her  lamp  un- 
lighted  and  the  darkness  -of  falsehood  in  her 
soul.  She  wondered  if  it  might  be  possible 
for  her  to  speak  even  now;  but  as  Frank 
approached  the  bed  the  instinct  of  dread 
alone  prevailed,  and  she  lay  still,  scarcely 
breathing,  and  trembling  like  a  hare  in  its 
form. 

He  stooped  over  her  and  thought  that  she 
slept ;  but  with  that  horrible  weak  yet  heavy 
beating  of  the  heart  going  on  inside  his 
breast  he  would  not  have  known  if  it  had 
been  death  he  looked  upon,  instead  of  sleep. 
In  the  hollow  of  her  arm  that  was  nearest 
him  he  deposited  all  the  gold  and  silver  he 
could  find  in  his  pockets,  softly,  one  piece 
laid  against  another,  not  to  waken  the 
sleeper.  He  did  not  despoil  himself  further. 
His  watch  and  the  ornaments  that  completed 
his  dress  he  kept  upon  his  person.  He 
looked  at  her  once  more,  her  face  turned 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  201 

away  from  the  little  heap  of  coin  gleaming 
against  the  whiteness  of  her  arm.  The  sight 
smote  him,  and  yet  what  more  did  he  owe 
her  now  ? 

Williams  watched  him  as  he  came  through 
the  office.  He  stopped  at  the  bar  and  asked 
for  a  glass  of  brandy  ;  he  drank  it  and  then 
went  over  to  the  desk  and  spoke  to  the  clerk, 
saying  something  about  feeling  the  brandy 
in  his  head.  His  behavior  struck  Williams 
as  simply  idiotic  under  the  circumstances, 
unless  the  boy  had  some  purpose  in  making 
a  fool  of  himself.  He  caught  sight  of  Wil- 
liams and  smiled  in  a  way  that  did  not  allay 
his  friend's  uneasiness.  Hugh  took  him  by 
the  arm  and  said,  speaking  low  as  they  stood 
by  the  door  together  :  — 

"  This  is  n't  fair  to  her,  Frank.  You 
ought  to  give  her  a  chance  to  explain." 

"  She  can't  explain  now,"  said  Frank, 
lightly.  "  She  's  asleep.  And  I  have  an 
engagement.  Will  you  go  up  there  and 
wait  till  I  come  back?  The  room  is  the 
one  opposite  the  ladies'  parlor.  Stay  round 
where  you  can  hear  her  if  she  calls." 

"  Where  in  the  world  are  you  going  ?  I 
don't  like  your  engagement  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night." 


202  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  A  man  can't  help  his  engagements," 
said  Frank.  "  You  heard  me  promise 
Blasshy  I  'd  be  there.  You  were  pretty 
rough  on  her,  Hugh.  You  owe  her  a  good 
turn.  And  if  your  friend's  wife  is  n't  all 
you  'd  like  her  to  be,  is  that  any  reason 
you  should  n't  stand  by  her  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  just  now  to  stand  by 
you." 

"  So  you  will,  if  you  '11  just  wait,  you 
know.  Wait  up  there  till  I  get  back." 

"  Go  on,  then  ;  I  will  wait ;  and  don't  be 
out  all  night." 

Frank  smiled  back  at  his  friend  with  that 
wretched,  inconsequent  smile. 

Hugh  was  still  uneasy,  but  the  fact  that 
Blashfield  was  concerned  with  Frank's  en- 
gagement comforted  him  somewhat :  his 
friend  could  not  have  any  very  desperate 
or  tragic  intentions  with  Blasshy  in  tow. 

The  ladies'  parlor  was  empty,  but  Wil- 
liams was  too  restless  to  compose  himself  to 
solitary  contemplation  of  its  splendors.  He 
walked  the  length  of  the  hall,  back  and 
forth,  pausing  once  at  Milly's  door  when 
he  thought  he  heard  a  sound  of  weeping. 
"  Poor  little  fool,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 


THE   CATASTROPHE.  203 

could   be   sorry  for  her  if  it  were  not  for 
Frank  —  his  life  spoiled  at  twenty-four." 

He  stood  in  one  spot  in  the  middle  of 
the  hall  for  some  moments,  thinking  of  his 
friend's  future. 

"  And  what  is  he  up  to  now,  I  wonder  ?  " 
He  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  Frank 
had  been  gone  three  quarters  of  an  hour. 

A  window  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall 
was  open  and  the  wind  blew  harshly  in, 
making  the  lamps  flicker.  He  stepped  down 
the  hall  to  close  it,  and  as  the  keen  night 
air  crossed  his  face  he  heard  the  report  of 
a  pistol.  He  went  to  the  window  and  looked 
out.  It  was  a  high  window,  opening  on  the 
narrow  fenced  alley  between  the  hotel 
kitchen  and  the  open  lot  behind.  The  alley 
was  lighted  for  a  short  distance  by  the 
lamps  of  late  workers  in  the  kitchen  ;  be- 
yond, as  far  as  he  could  see  in  the  direction 
of  the  shot,  all  was  dark. 

Williams  found  the  door  of  a  back  stair- 
way and  ran  down  to  a  rear  entrance  open- 
ing upon  the  fenced  passage.  One  or  two 
of  the  hotel  servants  —  there  were  but  few 
up  at  that  hour  —  stood  bareheaded  in  the 
alley,  in  the  light  from  the  hot  kitchen,  star- 
ing into  the  blackness  of  the  lot. 


204     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Williams  asked. 

"  Some  young  fellows  went  by  here  a 
while  back,"  one  of  the  waiters  said,  peering 
ahead  of  him.  "  I  do'  know  what  they  're 
up  to." 

Williams  crowded  past  him  and  met 
Blashfield,  a  few  steps  farther  on,  running, 
his  face  towards  the  light. 

"  Who  is  hurt  ?  "  asked  Williams,  seeing 
that  something  was  wrong. 

"  Embury." 

"  How  -—  who  did  it  ?  " 

Blashfield  did  not  answer,  but  ran  on.  He 
gave  money  to  one  of  the  waiters,  who  dis- 
appeared and  himself  took  the  nearest  way 
into  the  street. 

Williams  ran  blindly  forward  towards  a 
spot  of  light  near  the  rear  fence  of  the  lot. 
There  were  figures  moving  against  it ;  those 
nearest  the  light  were  motionless,  but  one 
was  moving  back  and  forth  in  a  curious  trot. 
A  few  steps  brought  Williams  near  enough 
to  see  that  it  was  Strode,  still  in  evening 
dress  except  that  he  had  changed  his  coat 
for  a  reefing  jacket.  He  grasped  Williams 
by  the  hand  and  began  a  childish  babbling. 
Hugh  could  not  shake  him  off ;  he  ran  be- 
side him  talking  excitedly. 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  205 

"  I  thought  you  were  the  sheriff.  I  'm 
waiting  to  give  myself  up  ;  but  the  boys  will 
tell  you,  Williams,  I  never  meant  to  fight. 
I  had  n't  a  thing  against  him.  I  offered  to 
apologize.  I  was  n't  even  heeled.  The 
boys  will  tell  you  one  of  'em  had  to  lend  me 
a  pistol ;  I  had  n't  a  weapon  on  me." 

"  Let  go  of  me,  Strode.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  'm  taking  you  there.  He  was  bound 
to  have  the  thing  come  off.  You  can  ask 
the  boys  if  I  could  help  myself.  I  don't 
know  how  I  came  to  hit  him.  I  never  meant 
to  do  it.  And  he  never  fired  a  shot.  His 
pistol  was  cold.  I  think  he  was  drunk, 
Williams,  or  else  he  's  off  his  head.  Why, 
good  Lord,  it  was  nothing  —  what  I  said." 

The  figures  by  the  spot  of  light  moved 
aside  and  showed  one  that  lay  on  the  snow, 
in  an  angle  of  the  fence,  sheltered  from  the 
wind.  A  lantern  at  his  feet  shone  upward 
upon  his  blanched  hands  and  chin  and 
throat. 

"  How  are  you  now,  Embury  ?  "  asked 
Strode,  pressing  up.  "  You  ain't  much  hurt, 
are  you  ?  " 

Hugh  put  him  aside.  "  Where  is  it, 
Frank  ? "  he  said.  "  Are  you  bleeding 
much?" 


206     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

Frank  groaned  as  Hugh  passed  his  hand 
over  the  soaked  clothing,  feeling  for  the 
wound. 

"  It  was  the  brandy,"  he  muttered.  "  You 
saw  me  take  it,  Hugh.  Went  to  my  head 
like  —  keep  them  off  a  minute,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Has  Blashfield  gone  for  a  doctor?" 
Hugh  inquired. 

"Yes,"  he  was  told.  "We  thought  we 
had  n't  better  move  him." 

"  Well,  step  away,  boys,  a  moment,  will 
you?  O  Frank,  I  could  curse  myself  to 
death,  if  that  would  save  you  !  " 

"  I  've  got  what  I  wanted.  You  '11  hush 
up  the  talk,  Hugh  ?  Let  them  think  it  was 
the  brandy  —  went  to  my  head,"  he  mur- 
mured wanderingly. 

"  Is  there  anything  else,  dear  boy  ?  You  '11 
get  a  chill  lying  here." 

"No  —  I  wanted  to  tell  you  —  I  've  got 
what  I  wanted,"  Frank  repeated  dreamily. 
"You  must  not  think  —  that  you"  —  He 
sighed,  and  gave  up  the  effort  to  explain. 
"  It  was  not  happy,"  he  whispered,  trying 
to  fix  his  eyes  upon  his  friend's  face.  They 
could  not  hold  the  look ;  the  meaning  faded 
out  of  them,  and  he  spoke  no  more. 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  207 

"  We  must  get  him  in,"  said  Hugh.  They 
laid  him  on  an  overcoat  stretched  upon  the 
snow,  and  carried  him  in,  past  the  lights  of 
the  kitchen,  by  the  servants'  entrance. 

"  Not  upstairs,"  Hugh  whispered. 

They  turned  into  the  dining-room,  where 
the  tables  were  set  in  order  again  for  the 
morning,  and  laid  him  on  the  floor  with  a 
pile  of  cheap  quilts  from  one  of  the  waiters' 
beds  beneath  him. 

The  doctor  had  gone,  commanding  that 
Frank  should  not  be  moved,  his  slender 
chance  for  life  depending  on  absolute  quiet. 

It  was  a  Leadville  night,  wind  and  sharp 
volleys  of  sleet  succeeding  the  early  hours 
of  still  darkness.  From  time  to  time  the 
watchman  came  in  and  put  coal,  noiselessly, 
with  his  mittened  hands,  upon  the  fire. 

Frank  had  not  spoken  since  his  fainting- 
fit when  they  carried  him  in.  Towards 
morning  he  opened  his  eyes  and  turned 
them  upon  Hugh,  with  that  look  which  those 
who  have  watched  by  the  dying  recognize  as 
the  approach  of  the  final  change  —  the  look 
that  obliterates  personality,  that  makes  the 
young  face  old  and  the  old  face  young. 


208     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

Hugh  saw  that  he  wished  to  speak.  He 
gave  him  the  stimulant  the  doctor  had 
ordered  in  case  of  a  return  to  consciousness, 
and  waited  for  its  effect. 

"  Could  you  go  up  softly,  before  she 
wakes,  and  take  that  money  away  ?  "  Frank 
whispered. 

Hugh  thought  that  he  was  wandering. 
Presently  he  said,  quite  collectedly,  "  When 
you  take  me  home,  tell  them  everything. 
Perhaps  they  will  not  mind,  if  they  know  — 
I  got  what  I  wanted." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  was  there  no  way  out 
of  it  but  this  ?  " 

"  Not  for  me  —  the  way  of  the  foolish," 
he  murmured. 

But  at  the  last,  the  smile  that  dawned 
upon  the  still  face  was  an  awesome  sight  to 
see.  Williams  thought,  as  he  dwelt  and 
dwelt  upon  it,  and  tried  to  strengthen  his 
faith  and  ease  his  pain  by  gazing,  that  if 
Frank's  father  and  mother  could  but  see 
that  look,  there  must  have  been  consolation, 
even  for  them,  in  that  marvelous  light  shed 
by  the  unknown  upon  this  wreck  of  the 
known. 

When  the   smile,  with  its   silent   protest 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  209 

against  grieving,  had  been  put  away  out  of 
sight,  Hugh's  pain  returned  ;  he  saw  all  the 
wasted  moments  of  retrieval,  all  the  turning- 
points  that  had  been  hurried  past. 

Mrs.  Dansken  showed  him  a  letter  she 
had  written  to  Frank's  mother,  bitterly  ac- 
cusing herself  and  giving  minute  details. 

"  You  have  n't  said  anything  about  what 
I  did,"  said  Hugh,  when  he  had  read  the 
letter. 

"  You  did  nothing  that  I  was  not  respon- 
sible for." 

"  You  can't  tell  the  whole  truth  about 
this  matter,  Mrs.  Dansken.  Better  leave  it 
alone.  I  will  tell  them  all  that  he  wanted 
them  to  know." 

"  But  they  will  never  know  his  provoca- 
tion." 

"  They  know  their  own  boy  —  and  would 
it  comfort  them  to  think  we  had  muddled 
his  life  away  here  among  us  ?  You  can't  tell 
the  whole  truth,  Mrs.  Dansken.  We  don't 
know  it  ourselves." 

There  have  been  dancers  and  dancing  on 
the  floor  of  the  Clarendon  dining-room  since 
the  night  of  Milly's  debut,  but  very  few  of 


210     THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

the  original  Assembly  ever  appeared  there 
again  in  pursuit  of  pleasure. 

There  was  one  corner  of  the  room,  over 
against  the  bench  where  Milly  had  sat  at 
bay,  that  was  haunted  for  those  who  helped 
to  lay  the  young  bridegroom  there  upon  the 
floor,  as  it  might  have  been,  at  her  feet. 
Milly  herself  never  entered  the  room  again, 
nor  willingly  looked  in  the  face  one  of  those 
who  witnessed  her  entrance  and  her  exit 
there.  Six  months  after  that  evening,  the 
household  at  No.  9  had  dispersed  and  knew 
each  other  no  more  except  by  hearsay. 

Blashfield  continued  on  his  amiable  career 
westward  until  he  reached  Honolulu,  where 
he  married  an  heiress  of  the  island,  with  a 
shade,  it  is  said,  of  the  liberally  dissemi- 
nated blood  of  the  royal  family  in  her  veins. 
She  is  reported  to  be  a  beautiful  woman, 
with  a  yard  or  more  of  darkest  brown  hair, 
and  a  constitutional  leaning  towards  the 
wearing  of  wrappers  in  the  afternoon. 

Mrs.  Dansken  continued  to  make  Hugh 
Williams  the  confidant  of  her  grief  and  re- 
pentance for  the  miscarriage  of  her  relations 
with  Embury ;  but  in  respect  to  Milly  she 
could  never  be  brought  to  accuse  herself 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  211 

except  for  the  fact  of  the  girl's  presence  in 
the  house.  With  no  audience  to  applaud, 
Hugh  ceased  to  try  to  make  points  against 
her  in  conversation.  Before  a  year  had 
passed  he  was  the  sole  boarder  at  No.  9,  and 
this  time  the  arrangement  was  a  permanent 
and  an  exclusive  one.  Mrs.  Dansken  was  a 
few  years  older  than  her  philosophical  hus- 
band, but  his  was  the  elder  temperament. 
Hugh  had  parted  with  his  best  hopes  in  the 
way  of  marriage  some  time  before  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  his  Leadville  landlady  : 
he  had  always  liked  the  merry,  capable,  hon- 
est little  woman ;  he  used  to  feel  her  weari- 
nesses, her  mistakes,  and  humiliations  al- 
most as  if  they  had  been  his  own ;  he  did 
not  mind  her  sharp  tongue  or  her  rowdy 
little  ways,  and  she  made  him,  he  believed, 
a  better  comrade  in  his  wandering  Western 
life  than  a  delicately  bred,  supersensitive,  ro- 
mantic girl  from  the  more  carefully  weeded 
ranks  of  society.  But  it  was  long  since  he 
had  known  any  girl  of  this  sort,  and  his  ideas 
on  the  subject  were  somewhat  vague. 

Strode  went  to  New  Mexico,  where  the 
story  of  his  having  killed  his  man  in  a  duel 
after  a  Leadville  dance  had  preceded  him, 


212  THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL. 

and  won  for  him  prestige  of  a  kind  which, 
under  the  circumstances,  he  did  not  covet. 
He  never  had  occasion  to  confirm  the  report 
that  described  him  as  a  dead-shot  and  a  dan- 
gerous man  in  a  quarrel. 

Milly  went  to  live  with  Mrs.  Black,  who, 
with  her  gift  for  discerning  what  was  best  in 
those  around  her,  discovered  that  Milly  was 
"a  born  sick-nurse" — of  the  capable  and 
restful,  rather  than  the  intuitive,  kind. 
There  was  plenty  of  employment  outside  of 
the  hospitals  for  Milly's  powers  during  the 
succeeding  season  at  the  camp.  Sometimes 
it  was  the  mother  of  a  young  babe  at  some 
crazy  cabin  on  a  claim  that  the  father  was 
"  holding  down,"  perhaps  with  barricade 
and  shotgun  ;  sometimes  a  houseful  of  little 
children  prostrated  by  an  epidemic.  Once 
it  was  a  traveler  overtaken  at  his  hotel  — 
a  big  stock-raiser  from  Montana,  in  beaver 
overcoat  and  diamond  pin,  who  perforce 
upon  his  recovery  presented  his  pretty  nurse 
with  the  life  he  was  pleased  to  owe  to  her 
services.  What  Milly  did  with  the  gift, 
after  she  went  back  with  him  to  his  cattle- 
ranch,  is  not  known.  But  Mrs.  Black  was 
glad  to  have  the  girl  off  her  mind,  she 


THE  CATASTROPHE.  213 

said.  "  For  a  girl  as  pretty  as  that,  who 
has  n't  learned  to  say  either  yes  or  no,  is  n't 
safe  to  have  around  in  a  place  where  there 
are  so  many  men  folks." 

Poor  Frank,  alas  !  had  given  occasion  for 
all  the  family  prophets  who  had  ever  doubted 
him  to  say,  "  I  told  you  so."  But  there  is 
one  little  girl  who  will  always  believe  that  if 
they  had  only  allowed  her  to  marry  her  own 
love  all  would  have  been  so  different.  Per- 
haps a  belief  of  this  kind  is  a  better  thing 
than  its  realization  could  have  been ;  at  all 
events,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mason  still  think  that 
they  knew  best. 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

THERE  are  many  loose  pages  of  the 
earth's  history  scattered  through  the  unpeo- 
pled regions  of  the  Far  West,  known  but 
to  few  persons,  and  these  unskilled  in  the 
reading  of  Nature's  dumb  records.  One  of 
these  unread  pages,  written  over  with  pre- 
historic inscriptions,  is  the  canon  of  the 
Klamath  River. 

An  ancient  lava  stream  once  submerged 
the  valley.  Its  hardening  crust,  bursting 
asunder  in  places,  left  great  crooked  rents, 
through  which  the  subsequent  drainage  from 
the  mountain  slopes  found  a  way  down  to 
the  desert  plains.  In  one  of  these  furrows, 
left  by  the  fiery  ploughshare,  a  river,  now 
called  the  Klamath,  made  its  bed.  Hurl- 
ing itself  from  side  to  side,  scouring  out  its 
straitened  boundaries  with  tons  of  sand  torn 
from  the  mountains,  it  has  slowly  widened 
and  deepened  and  worn  its  ancient  channel 
into  the  canon  as  it  may  now  be  seen. 


216  THE  FATE   OF  A    VOICE. 

No  one  can  tell  how  long  the  river  has 
been  making  the  bed  in  which  it  lies  so  rest- 
lessly. Riding  towards  it  across  the  sun- 
burnt mountain  pastures,  its  course  may  be 
traced  by  the  black  crests  of  the  lava  bluffs 
which  line  its  channel,  showing  in  the  part- 
ings of  the  hills.  From  a  distance  the  bluffs 

O 

do  not  look  formidable  ;  they  seem  but  a 
step  down  from  the  high,  sunlit  slopes,  an 
insignificant  break  in  the  skyward  sweep  of 
their  long,  buoyant  lines.  But  ride  on  to 
the  brink  and  look  down.  The  bunch-grass 
grows  to  the  very  edge,  its  slight  spears 
quivering  in  light  against  the  canon's  depths 
of  shadow.  The  roar  of  the  river  comes 
up  to  your  ears  in  a  continuous  volume  of 
sound,  loud  or  low,  as  the  wind  changes. 
Here  and  there,  where  the  speed  of  the  river 
has  been  checked,  it  has  left  a  bit  of  white 
sand  beach,  the  only  positive  white  in  the 
landscape.  The  faded  grasses  of  the  hills 
look  pale  against  the  sky  [it  is  a  country  of 
cloudless  skies  and  long  rainless  summers] 
—  only  the  dark  canon  walls  dominate  the 
intensity  of  its  deep  unchanging  blue.  The 
broad  light  rests,  still  as  in  a  picture,  on  the 
fixed  black  lines  of  the  bluffs,  on  the  slopes 


THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  217 

of  wild  pasture  whose  curves  flatten  and 
crowd  together  as  they  approach  the  horizon. 
A  few  black  dots  of  cattle,  grazing  in  the 
distance,  may  appear  and  then  stray  out  of 
sight  over  a  ridge,  or  a  broad-winged  bird 
may  slowly  mount  and  wheel  and  sink  be- 
tween the  canon  walls.  Meanwhile,  your 
horse  is  picking  his  way,  step  by  step,  along 
the  bluffs,  cropping  the  tufts  of  dry  bunch- 
grass,  his  hoofs  clinking  now  and  then  on  a 
bit  of  sunken  rock,  which,  from  the  sound, 
might  go  down  to  the  foundations  of  the 
hills  ;  there  are  cracks,  too,  that  look  as  if 
they  went  as  deep.  The  basalt  walls  are 
reared  in  tiers  of  columns  with  an  hexagonal 
cleavage.  A  column  or  a  group  of  columns 
becomes  dislocated  from  the  mass,  rests  so, 
slightly  apart ;  a  girl's  weight  might  throw 
it  over.  At  length  the  accumulation  of 
slight,  incessant,  propelling  causes  over- 
comes its  delicate  poise  ;  it  topples  down ; 
the  jointed  columns  fall  apart,  and  their 
fragments  go  to  increase  the  heap  of  debris 
which  has  found  its  angle  of  repose  at  the 
foot  of  the  cliff.  A  raw  spot  of  color 
shows  on  the  weather-worn  face  of  the  cliff, 
and  beneath  it  a  shelf  is  left,  or  a  niche,  which 


218  THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE. 

the  tough  sage  and  the  scented  wild  syringa 
creep  down  to  and  fearlessly  occupy  in  com- 
pany with  straggling  tufts  of  bunch-grass. 

One  summer  a  party  of  railroad  engineers 
made  their  camp  in  the  river  canon,  distribut- 
ing their  tents  along  the  side  of  a  gulch  lined 
with  willows  and  wild  roses,  up  the  first  hill 
above  it,  and  down  on  the  white  sand  beach 
below.  The  quarters  of  the  division  engi- 
neer, who  had  ladies  with  him  in  camp  that 
summer,  the  tents  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  corps,  the  cook-tent,  and  the  dining-shed 
made  a  little  settlement  by  themselves  on  the 
hill ;  while  the  camp  of  the  "  force  "  was  lower 
down  the  gulch.  Work  on  that  division  of  the 
new  railroad  had  been  temporarily  suspended, 
and  the  engineer  in  charge,  having  finished 
his  part  of  the  line  to  its  junction  with  the 
valley  division,  was  awaiting  orders  from  his 
chief. 

It  was  September,  and  the  last  week  of 
the  ladies'  sojourn  in  camp.  They  were  but 
two,  the  division  engineer's  wife  and  the 
wife's  younger  sister,  a  girl  with  a  voice. 
No  one  who  knew  her  ever  thought  of  Made- 
line Hendrie  without  thinking  of  her  voice, 
a  Sact  she  herself  would  have  been  the  last 


THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE.  219 

to  resent.  At  that  time  she  was  ordering  her 
life  solely  with  reference  to  the  demands  of 
that  imperious  organ.  An  obstinate  huski- 
ness  which  had  changed  it  since  the  damp,  late 
Eastern  spring,  and  had  veiled  its  brilliancy, 
was  the  motive  that  had  sent  her,  with  her 
sister,  to  the  dry,  pure  air  of  the  foot-hills. 
In  the  autumn  she  would  go  abroad  for  two 
or  three  years'  final  study. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  in  camp.  Since 
work  on  the  line  had  ceased  there  was  little 
to  distinguish  it  from  any  other  afternoon, 
except  that  the  little  Duncan  girls  wore 
white  dresses  and  broad  ribbons  at  lunch 
instead  of  their  play  frocks,  and  were  al- 
lowed to  come  to  the  six  o'clock  dinner  in 
the  cook-tent.  Mrs.  Duncan  had  remarked 
to  her  husband  that  Madeline  and  young 
Aldis  seemed  to  be  making  the  most  of  their 
farewells.  They  had  spent  the  entire  after- 
noon together  on  the  river  beach,  not  in 
sight  of  the  camp,  but  in  a  little  cove  se- 
cluded by  willows,  where  the  brook  came 
down.  Mrs.  Duncan  could  see  them  now 
returning  with  lagging  steps  along  the  shore, 
not  looking  at  each  other  and  not  speaking, 
apparently.  The  rest  of  the  camp  was  on 
its  way  to  dinner. 


220  THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE. 

"I  told  you  how  it  would  be,  if  you 
brought  her  out  here,  you  know,"  Mr.  Dun- 
can said,  waiting  for  his  wife  to  pass  him, 
with  her  skirts  gathered  in  one  hand,  along 
the  foot-bridge  that  crossed  the  brook  to  the 
cook-tent. 

"  Oh,  Madeline  is  all  right,"  she  replied. 

But  Aldis  was  missing  at  table,  and 
Madeline  came  down  late,  though  without 
having  changed  her  dress,  and  during  din- 
ner avoided  her  sister's  eye. 

"  You  're  not  going  out  with  him  again, 
Madeline  !  "  Mrs.  Duncan  found  a  chance  to 
say  to  the  girl  after  dinner,  as  she  was  hurry- 
ing up  the  trail  with  a  light  shawl  on  her 
arm.  "  All  the  afternoon,  and  now  again  ! 
What  can  you  be  thinking  of?  " 

Mrs.  Duncan  could  see  Aldis  walking 
about  in  front  of  the  tents  on  the  hill,  evi- 
dently on  the  watch  for  Madeline. 

"  I  must,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  It  is  a 
promise." 

"  Oh,  if  it  has  come  to  that  "  — 

"  It  has  n't  come  to  anything.  You  need 
not  be  troubled.  To-night  will  be  the  last 
of  it." 

"  Madeline,  you  must  not  go.      Let  me 


THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  221 

excuse  you  to  Aldis.  I  cannot  let  you  go  till 
I  Ve  had  a  chance  to  talk  with  you." 

"  That  is  what  I  have  promised  him  —  one 
more  chance.  You  cannot  help  us,  Sallie. 
Go  back,  dear,  and  don't  worry  about  me." 

These  words  were  hastily  whispered  on 
the  trail,  Aldis  walking  about  and  gloomily 
awaiting  the  result  of  this  flying  conference 
between  the  sisters.  Mrs.  Duncan  went 
back  to  the  house  only  half-satisfied  that  she 
had  done  her  duty.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  found  it  difficult  to  do  her  duty  by 
Madeline,  when  it  happened  to  conflict  with 
the  inclinations  of  that  imperative  youngest 
daughter  of  the  house  of  Hendrie.  However, 
it  was  not  for  Madeline  that  she  was  troubled. 

The  path  leading  to  the  bluffs  was  one  of 
the  many  cattle-trails  that  wind  upward,  with 
an  even  grade,  from  base  to  summit  of  every 
grass-covered  hill  on  the  mountain  ranges. 
Madeline  and  Aldis  shortened  the  way  by 
leaving  the  trail  and  climbing  the  side  of 
the  bluff  where  it  jutted  out  above  the  river. 
It  was  a  steep  and  breathless  struggle  up- 
ward, and  Madeline  did  not  refuse  the  accus- 
tomed help  of  her  companion's  hand,  offered 
in  silence  with  a  look  which  she  ignored. 


222  THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE. 

Mechanically  they  sought  the  place  where 
it  had  been  their  custom  to  sit  on  other  even- 
ings of  the  summer  they  had  spent  together, 
—  one  of  those  ledges  a  few  feet  from  the 
summit  of  the  bluff,  where  part  of  a  row 
of  columns  had  fallen.  Cautiously  they 
stepped  down  to  it,  along  a  crevice  slippery 
with  dried  grasses,  he  keeping  always  be- 
tween her  and  the  brink. 

The  sun  had  already  set  to  the  camp,  but 
from  their  present  height  once  more  they 
could  see  it  drifting  down  the  flaming  west. 
Suddenly,  as  a  fire-ship  burns  to  the  water's 
edge  and  sinks,  the  darkening  line  of  the 
distant  plains  closed  above  that  intolerable 
splendor.  All  the  cool  subdued  tones  of  the 
canon  sprang  into  life.  The  river  took  a 
steely  gleam.  Up  through  the  gate  of  the 
canon  rolled  the  tide  of  hazy  glory  from 
the  valley,  touched  the  topmost  crags,  and 
mounted  thence  to  fade  in  the  evening  sky. 
The  two  on  the  bluffs  sat  in  silence,  their 
faces  pale  in  the  deepening  glow,  but  Mad- 
eline had  crept  forward  on  the  ledge,  nearer 
to  Aldis,  to  look  down.  It  was  the  first 
confiding  natural  movement  she  had  made 
towards  him  since  the  shock  of  this  new 


THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE.  223 

phase  of  their  friendship  had  startled  her. 
Aldis  was  grateful  for  it,  while  resolved  to 
take  all  possible  advantage  of  it.  At  his 
first  words  she  drew  back,  and  he  knew,  be- 
fore her  answer  came,  that  she  had  instantly 
resumed  the  defensive. 

"  Everything  has  been  said,  except  things 
it  would  be  unkind  to  say.  Why  need  we  go 
over  it  all  again?  " 

"  That  is  what  we  came  up  here  for,  is  it 
not  ?  To  go  over  it  all  once  more  and  get 
down  to  the  very  dregs  of  your  argument." 

"  It  is  not  an  argument.  It  is  a  decision, 
and  it  is  made.  There  is  nothing  more  I 
can  say,  except  to  indulge  in  the  meanness 
of  recrimination." 

"  Go  on  and  recriminate,  by  all  means ! 
That  is  what  I  want,  —  to  make  you  say 
everything  you  have  on  your  mind.  Then  I 
shall  ask  you  to  listen  to  me.  What  is  it 
that  you  are  keeping  back  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  was  it  quite  honest  of  you 
to  seem  to  accept  the  conditions  of  our  — 
being  together  this  summer,  as  we  have  been, 
and  all  the  while  to  be  nursing  this  —  hope, 
— for  me  to  have  to  kill?  Do  you  think 
I  enjoy  it?" 


224  THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE. 

"  The  conditions  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  What 
conditions  do  you  mean  ?  I  knew  you  in- 
tended yourself  for  a  public  singer." 

The  girl  blushed  hotly.  "Why  do  you 
say  '  intended  myself '  ?  I  did  not  choose 
my  fate.  It  has  chosen  me.  You  must 
have  known  that  marrying  "  —  the  word 
came  with  a  kind  of  awkward  violence  from 
her  lips  —  "  anybody  was  the  last  thing  I 
should  be  likely  to  think  of.  A  voice  is  a 
vocation  in  itself." 

"  I  did  not  propose  marriage  to  you  as  a 
vocation.  As  for  that  hope  you  accuse  me 
of  secretly  harboring,  I  have  never  held  you 
responsible  for  it.  I  took  all  the  risks  de- 
liberately when  I  gave  myself  up  to  being 
happy  with  you,  and  trying  to  make  you 
happy  with  me.  You  have  been  happy 
sometimes,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  confessed ;  "  too  happy,  if  this 
is  the  way  it  is  to  end." 

"But  it  is  not?  Perhaps  I  ought  to  thank 
you  for  being  sorry  for  me,  but  that  is  not 
what  I  want.  I  want  to  make  you  sorry 
for  yourself,  and  for  the  awful  mistake  you 
are  making." 

"  Oh,  the  whole  summer  has  been  a  mis- 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  225 

take  !  And  this  place  and  everj^thing  have 
been  fatal !  But  if  you  had  only  been  hon- 
est with  me,  it  might  have  all  been  different. 
I  should  have  been  on  my  guard." 

"  Thank  heaven  you  were  not !  Do  you 
suppose  the  man  lives  who  would  put  a  girl 
on  her  guard,  as  you  say,  and  endure  her 
company  on  such  terms  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  am  not  free  ; 
I  am  not  —  eligible.  I  thought  you  under- 
stood that  and  admitted  it.  We  were  friends 
on  that  basis." 

"  I  never  admitted  anything  of  the  kind 
or  accepted  any  basis  but  the  natural  one. 
When  you  make  your  own  conditions  for  a 
man  and  assume  that  he  accepts  them,  you 
should  ask  yourself  what  sort  of  an  animal 
he  is.  Most  of  us  believe  we  have  an  inal- 
ienable right  to  try  to  win  the  woman  we 
have  chosen,  if  she  is  not  bespoken  or  mar- 
ried to  another  man." 

"  I  am  bespoken  then.  Thank  you  for  the 
word.  My  life  is  pledged  to  a  purpose  as 
serious  as  marriage  itself.  You  need  not 
smile.  Love  is  not  the  only  inspiration  a 
woman's  life  can  know.  I  shall  reach  far 
more  people  through  my  art  than  I  could  by 
just  living  for  my  own  preferences." 


226  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

"  You  still  have  preferences,  then  ?  " 
"  Why  should  I  deny  it.  I  don't  call  it 
being  strong  to  be  merely  indifferent.  I 
can  care  for  things  and  yet  give  them  up. 
I  don't  expect  to  have  a  very  good  time 
these  next  three  years.  I  dare  say  I  shall 
have  foolish  dreams  like  other  girls,  and  look 
back  and  count  the  time  spent.  But  what 
I  truly  believe  I  was  meant  to  do,  that  I 
will  do,  no  matter  what  it  costs.  There  is 
no  other  way  to  live.  Listen  !  "  —  she 
stopped  him  with  a  gesture  as  he  was  about 
to  speak.  She  raised  her  head.  Her  gray 
eyes,  which  had  more  light  than  color  in 
them,  were  shining  with  something  that 
looked  like  tears,  as  she  gave  voice  to  one 
long,  heart-satisfying  peal  of  harmony,  pro- 
longing it,  filling  the  silence  with  its  rich 
cadences,  and  waking  from  the  rocks  across 
the  canon  a  faint  eerie  repetition,  an  echo 
like  the  utterance  of  a  voice  imprisoned  in 
the  cliff.  "  There,"  she  said,  "  are  the  two 
me's,  the  real  me  and  what  you  would  make 
of  me  —  the  ghost  of  a  voice  —  an  echo  of 
other  voices  from  the  world  I  belonged  to 
once,  calling  in  the  wild  places  where  you 
would  have  me  buried  alive." 


THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE.  227 

He  smiled  drearily  at  this  girlish  hyper- 
bole. "  I  think  there  is  room  here  even  for 
a  voice  like  yours.  It  need  not  perish  for 
want  of  breath." 

"  No,  but  for  want  of  listeners.  I  could 
not  sing  in  an  empty  world." 

"  You  would  have  one  listener.  I  could 
listen  for  ten  thousand." 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  want  you.  I  want  the 
ten  thousand.  There  are  plenty  of  women 
with  sweet  voices  meant  for  only  one  listener. 
You  should  find  one  of  those  voices  and 
listen  to  it  the  rest  of  your  life."  There  was 
a  tremulous,  insistent  gayety  in  her  manner 
which  met  with  no  response.  "  As  for  me," 
she  continued,  "  I  want  to  sing  to  multitudes. 
I  want  to  lean  my  voice  on  the  waves  of 
great  orchestras.  I  want  to  feel  myself  going 
crazy  in  the  choruses,  and  then  sing  all  alone 
in  a  hush  —  oh,  don't  you  know  that  intoxi- 
cating silence  ?  It  takes  hundreds  to  make 
it.  And  can't  you  hear  the  first  low  notes, 
and  feel  the  shudder  of  joy  ?  I  can.  I  can 
hear  my  own  voice  like  a  separate  living 
thing.  I  love  it  better  than  I  love  myself ! 
It  is  n't  myself.  I  feel  sometimes  that  it  is 
a  spirit  that  has  trusted  itself  to  my  keep- 
ing. I  will  not  betray  it,  even  for  you." 


228  THE  FATE    OF  A  VOICE. 

This  little  concession  to  the  weakness  of 
human  preference  escaped  her  in  the  ardor 
of  her  resolve.  It  was  not  lost  upon  Aldis. 

"  Do  you  think  I  wish  to  silence  you,"  he 
protested.  "  I  love  your  voice,  but  not  as  a 
separate  thing.  If  it  is  a  spirit,  it  is  your 
spirit.  But  I  could  dispense  with  it,  easily  !  " 

"  Of  course  you  could.  You  don't  care  for 
me  as  I  am.  You  have  never  admitted  that 
I  have  a  gift  which  is  a  destiny  in  itself.  If 
you  did,  you  would  respect  it ;  you  could  not 
think  of  me,  mutilated,  as  I  should  be  if  you 
took  away  my  one  means  of  expression." 

"  Oh,  nobody  who  has  anything  to  express 
is  so  limited  as  that.  Besides,  I  would  n't 
take  it  away.  I  would  enlarge  it,  not  force 
it  into  one  channel.  I  would  have  the 
woman  possess  the  voice,  not  the  voice  pos- 
sess the  woman.  I  should  be  the  last  to 
deny  that  you  have  a  destiny ;  but  I  have 
one  too.  My  destiny  is  to  love  you  and  to 
make  you  my  wife.  There  is  nothing  in 
that  that  need  conflict  with  yours." 

"  I  should  think  there  was  everything !  " 

"  You  have  never  let  me  get  so  far  as  a 
single  detail,  but  if  you  will  listen." 

"  I  thought  I  had  listened  pretty  well  for 


THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE.  229 

one  who  assumes  that  it  is  her  mission  to  be 
heard,"  Madeline  again  said,  with  a  piteous 
attempt  at  lightness,  which  her  hot  cheeks 
and  anxious  eyes  belied. 

"  Granting  that  it  is  your  mission,  this 
part  of  the  world  is  not  so  empty  as  it  looks. 
The  people  who  would  make  your  audiences 
here  are  farther  apart  than  in  the  cities, 
but  they  have  the  enthusiasm  that  makes 
nothing  of  distance.  They  would  make  pil- 
grimages to  hear  you  —  whole  families  in 
plains-wagons  with  the  children  packed  in 
bed-quilts.  And  the  cowboys!  they  would 
gather  as  they  do  to  a  grand  round-up.  It 
would  be  a  unique  career  for  a  singer,"  he 
continued  ignoring  an  interruption  from 
Madeline,  asking  who  would  evoke  this  wide- 
spread enthusiasm,  and  whether  he  would 
have  her  advertised  in  the  "  Wallula  News 
Miner." 

"  There  would  be  no  money  in  it  for  us." 
(Madeline  winced  at  the  pronoun.)  "  I  would 
not  have  your  lovely  gift  peddled  about  the 
country.  There  would  be  no  floral  tributes 
or  press  notices  you  would  care  for,  or  inter- 
views with  reporters  or  descriptions  of  your 
dresses  in  the  papers.  You  might  never 


230  THE  FATE   Of  A  VOICE. 

have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  picture  in 
the  back  of  the  monthlies,  advertising  su- 
perior toilet  articles ;  but  to  a  generous 
woman  who  believes  in  the  regenerating 
influence  of  her  art,  I  should  think  there 
would  be  a  singular  pleasure  in  giving  it 
away  to  those  who  are  cut  off  from  all  such 
joys.  I  know  there  are  singers  who  boast 
of  their  thousand-dollar-a-night  voices ;  I 
would  rather  boast  that  mine  was  the  one 
free  voice  that  could  not  be  bought." 

"There  are  no  such  vagrant,  prodigal 
voices.  A  beautiful,  trained  voice  is  one  of 
the  highest  products  of  civilization.  It  takes 
the  most  civilized  listeners  to  appreciate  it. 
It  needs  the  stimulus  of  refined  apprecia- 
tion. It  needs  the  inspiration  of  other 
voices  and  the  spur  of  intelligent  criticism. 
I  know  you  have  been  making  fun  of  my 
ambitions,  but  I  choose  to  take  you  seriously. 
My  standard  would  come  down  to  the  level 
of  my  audiences  —  the  cowboys  and  the 
children  in  bed-quilts." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  would  n't.  Your  genius  is 
its  own  standard,  is  it  not  ?  You  would  be 
like  the  early  poets  and  the  troubadours. 
They  sang  in  rather  an  empty  world,  did 


THE   FATE   OF  A   VOICE.  231 

they  not,  and  not  always  to  critical  au- 
diences ?  The  knights  and  barons  could  n't 
have  been  much  above  our  cowboys." 

"  Oh,  how  absurd  you  are !  No,  not  ab- 
surd, but  unkind ;  you  are  making  desper- 
ate fun  of  me  and  of  my  voice  too,  because 
I  make  so  much  of  it  —  but  you  force  me 
to.  It  is  my  whole  argument." 

"  I  'm  desperate  enough  for  anything,  but 
I  'm  hardly  in  a  position  to  make  fun  of  my 
rival.  Madeline,  sometimes  I  hate  your 
voice,  and  yet  I  love  it  too.  I  understand 
its  power  better  than  you  think.  It  has  just 
the  dramatic  quality  which  should  make  you 
the  singer  of  a  new  people.  Oh,  how  blind 
you  are  to  a  career  so  much  finer,  so  much 
broader,  so  much  sweeter,  and  more  wo- 
manly !  Your  mission  is  here,  in  the  camps 
of  the  Philistines.  You  are  to  bring  a  mes- 
sage to  the  heathen ;  to  sing  to  the  wander- 
ing, godless  peoples,  —  to  the  Esaus  and  the 
Ishmaels  of  the  Far  West." 

"  That  is  all  very  fine,  but  you  know  per- 
fectly well  that  your  Esaus  and  your  Ish- 
maels would  prefer  a  good  clog-dancer  to  all 
the  4  messages  '  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  you   don't    know   them,  —  and   if 


232  THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE. 

they  did,  it  would  be  the  first  part  of  your 
mission  to  teach  them  a  higher  sort  of 
pleasure." 

"  And  I  am  to  go  to  Munich  and  study 
for  the  sake  of  coming  out  here  to  regener- 
ate the  cowboys  ?  " 

"  That  is  n't  the  part  of  your  destiny  / 
insist  upon,"  Aldis  said,  letting  the  weari- 
ness of  discouragement  show  in  his  tones. 
44  But  you  say  you  must  have  an  audience. 
And  I  must  have  you  "  — 

"  But  does  it  occur  to  you,"  Madeline 
interrupted  quickly,  "what  a  tremendous 
waste  of  effort  and  elaboration  there  would 
be  between  the  means  and  the  effect?  " 

"  I  don't  ask  for  the  effort  and  the  elab- 
oration. That  is  the  part  you  insist  upon. 
All  I  want  is  you,  just  as  you  are,  voice  or 
no  voice.  You  need  not  go  to  Munich  on 
my  account." 

"  You  expect  me  to  give  up  everything." 

"  You  would  have  to  give  up  a  good  deal ; 
I  don't  deny  it.  But  is  there  any  virtue  in 
woman  that  becomes  her  better  ?  " 

"Perhaps  not,  from  a  man's  point  of 
view.  But  it  is  no  use  listening  to  you. 
You  have  n't  the  faintest  conception  of  what 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  283 

my  future  is  to  me,  as  I  see  it,  and  all  this 
you  have  been  talking  is  either  a  burlesque 
on  my  ambition,  or  else  it  is  the  insanity  of 
selfishness  —  masculine  selfishness.  I  don't 
mean  anything  personal.  You  want  to  ab- 
sorb into  your  own  life  a  thing  that  was 
meant  to  have  a  life  of  its  own,  for  all  the 
world  to  share  and  enjoy.  Yes,  why  not? 
I  won't  pretend  to  depreciate  my  gift !  I  am 
only  the  tenement  in  which  a  precious  thing 
is  lodged.  You  would  drive  out  the  divine 
tenant,  or  imprison  it,  for  the  sake  of  pos- 
sessing the  poor  house  it  lives  in." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  Aldis  exclaimed,  with 
a  sort  of  awe  of  what  seemed  to  him  an 
almost  blasphemous  absurdity.  "  What  non- 
sense you  young  geniuses  can  talk  !  I  wish 
the  precious  tenant  would  evacuate  and  leave 
you  to  your  sober  senses,  and  to  me." 

"  And  this  is  what  a  man  calls  love !  " 

Aldis  laughed  fiercely.  "  Has  there  been 
any  new  kind  of  love  invented  lately  ?  This 
is  the  kind  that  came  into  the  world  before 
art  did." 

"  Art  is  love,  without  its  selfishness,"  said 
Madeline,  with  innocent  conclusiveness. 

"  Where  the  deuce  do  you  girls  learn  this 


234  THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE. 

sort  of  talk  ?  "  Aldis  demanded  of  the  girl 
beside  him. 

She  answered  him  with  unexpected  gentle- 
ness. She  leaned  towards  him,  and  looked 
entreatingly  in  his  face.  "  This  is  our  last 
evening  together.  Don't  let  us  spoil  it  with 
this  wretched  squabbling." 

"  She  calls  it  squabbling  —  a  man's  fight 
for  his  life  !  "  He  turned  and  gave  her  back 
her  look,  with  more  fire  than  entreaty  in  his 
eyes. 

"  There  is  the  moon,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"  It  is  time  to  go  home." 

The  fringe  of  grasses  above  their  heads 
was  touched  with-  silver  light,  and  the 
shadow  of  the  bluff  lay  broad  and  distinct 
across  the  valley. 

"  We  must  go  home,"  Madeline  urged. 
Aldis  did  not  move. 

"  Madeline,  would  you  marry  me  if  I  had 
a  lot  of  money?  " 

"  Oh,  hush  !  " 

"  No,  but  would  you  ?    Answer  me." 

"  Yes,  I  would."  She  was  tired  of  choos- 
ing her  words.  "  For  then  you  would  not 
have  to  earn  a  living  in  these  wild  places." 

"  You  would  take  me  then  as  a  sort  of 


THE  FATE    OF  A   VOICE.  235 

appendage  ?  You  don't  want  a  man  with 
work  of  his  own  to  do  ?  " 

"  Not  if  it  interferes  with  mine." 

"  That  is  your  answer  ?  " 

"  Can  I  make  it  any  plainer  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  said  you  do  not  love 
me." 

44 1  don't  need  to  say  it.  It  is  proved  by 
what  I  do  —  I  might  have  been  nicer  to  you, 
perhaps,  but  you  are  so  unreasonable." 

"Never  mind  if  I  am.  Be  nice  to  me 
now ! " 

"  I  meant  to  be.  But  it  is  too  late.  We 
must  go  home."  She  felt  that  she  was  los- 
ing command  of  herself  through  sheer  ex- 
haustion ;  any  hint  of  weakness  or  hesitation 
now  could  only  mislead  him  and  prolong  the 
struggle.  "  Come,"  she  said,  "  you  will  have 
to  get  up  first." 

He  did  not  move. 

"  Oh,  sit  still  a  little  longer,"  he  pleaded. 
"  I  will  not  bother  you  any  more.  Let  us 
have  one  half  hour  of  our  old  times  together 
—  only  a  little  better,  because  it  is  the 
last." 

44  No,  not  another  minute."  She  rose 
quickly  to  her  feet,  tripped  in  her  skirt,  and 


236  THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE. 

tottered  forward.  Aldis  had  risen  too.  As 
she  reeled  and  threw  out  her  hands,  he 
sprang  between  her  and  the  brink,  thrusting 
her  back  with  the  whole  force  of  his  sudden 
spring.  The  rock  upon  which  he  had  leaped 
regardless  of  his  footing  gave  its  final  quake 
and  dropped  into  the  abyss.  It  was  the  up- 
permost segment  of  a  loosened  column.  The 
whole  mass  went  down,  narrowing  the  ledge 
so  that  Madeline,  by  turning  her  head,  could 
look  into  the  depths  below.  She  did  not 
move  or  cry ;  she  lay  still,  but  for  the  deep 
gasping  breaths  that  would  not  cease,  though 
all  the  life  had  seemed  to  go  out  from  her 
when  he  went  down.  The  relief  of  uncon- 
sciousness did  not  come  to  her.  She  was 
aware  of  the  soft,  dry  night  wind  growing 
cool,  of  the  river's  soughing,  of  the  long 
grasses  fluttering  wildly  against  the  moon 
above  her  head.  The  perfume  of  wild  sy- 
ringa  blossoms,  hidden  in  some  crevice  of  the 
rock,  came  to  her  with  the  breeze.  There 
were  crackling,  rustling  noises  from  the 
depth  of  shadow,  into  which  she  dared  not 
look ;  then  silence,  except  the  wind  and  the 
river's  roar,  borne  strongly  upwards,  as  it 
freshened.  And  all  the  words  they  had  said 


TEE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  237 

to  each  other  in  their  long,  passionate  ar- 
gument kept  repeating  themselves,  forcing 
themselves  upon  her  stunned,  passive  con- 
sciousness, she  lying  there,  not  caring  if  she 
never  stirred  again,  and  he  on  the  rocks 
below ;  and  between  them  the  sudden,  awful 
silence.  She  might  have  crept  to  the  brink 
and  called,  but  she  could  not  call  to  the 
dead. 

Gradually  it  came  to  her  that  she  must 
get  herself  back  somehow  to  the  camp  with 
her  miserable  story.  It  would  be  easier,  it 
seemed,  to  turn  once  over  and  drop  off  the 
cliff,  and  let  some  one  else  tell  the  story  for 
them  both.  But  the  fascination  of  this  im- 
pulse could  not  prevail  over  the  awakening 
shuddering  fact  of  her  physical  being.  She 
despised  herself  for  the  caution  with  which 
she  crept  along  the  ledge  and  up  the  grass- 
grown  crevice.  If  he  had  been  cautious  she 
would  be  where  he  was  lying  now.  It  was 
her  own  rash  girl's  fancy  for  getting  on  the 
brink  of  things  and  looking  over,  that  had 
brought  them  first  to  that  fatal  place.  But 
these  thoughts  were  but  pin-pricks  following 
the  shock  of  that  benumbing  horror  she  was 
carrying  with  her  back  to  the  camp. 


238  THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE. 

As  she  looked  down  upon  its  lights  she 
felt  like  one  already  long  estranged  from  the 
life  of  which  she  had  been  the  gay  centre  but 
two  hours  before.  She  knew  how  her  sister's 
little  girls  were  asleep,  the  night  wind  softly 
stirring  the  leaves  outside  their  bedroom 
window  ;  how  still  the  house  was ;  how  empty 
and  white  in  the  moonlight  the  tents  on  the 
hill ;  how  the  camp  was  assembled  on  the 
beach,  waiting  for  her  return  with  Aldis  and 
for  the  evening  singing.  Sing !  She  could 
have  shrieked,  sobbed,  and  cried  aloud  at 
the  thought  of  this  home-coming  —  she  alone 
with  the  burden  of  her  sorrow,  and  by  and  by 
Aldis,  borne  in  his  comrades'  arms  and  laid 
on  his  bed  in  that  empty  tent  on  the  hill. 

But  there  was  a  hard  constriction,  a  dumb, 
convulsive  ache  in  her  throat.  She  felt  as 
if  no  sound  could  ever  be  uttered  by  her 
again. 

If  Aldis  had  been  lying  dead  at  the  foot 
of  the  bluffs,  as  Madeline  believed,  this  story 
would  never  have  been  told  in  print,  except  in 
a  cold-blooded  newspaper  paragraph,  which 
would  have  omitted  to  mention  one  curious 
fact  connected  with  the  accident ;  that  a 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  239 

young  girl,  who  was  the  companion  of  the 
unfortunate  young  man  when  it  occurred, 
suffered  a  shock  of  the  nerves  from  the  sight 
of  his  fall  that  deprived  her  entirely  of  her 
voice,  so  that  she  could  not  speak  except  in 
whispers. 

It  was  not  Aldis  who  was  the  victim  of 
this  tragedy  of  the  bluffs,  but  Aldis's  suc- 
cessful rival,  the  Voice.  It  was  hushed,  at 
the  very  moment  of  its  triumph.  A  blow 
from  the  brain  upon  those  nerve  -  chords 
which  were  its  life  —  love  shook  the  house 
in  which  music  dwelt,  jarred  it  to  its  centre, 
and  the  imperious  but  frail  tenant  had  fled. 

At  the  moment  when  Madeline's  tortured 
fancy  was  bringing  him  home  a  mangled 
heap,  and  laying  him  in  the  last  of  that  row 
of  tents  on  the  hill,  Aldis  was  getting  him- 
self home  by  the  lower  trail,  as  fast  as  his 
bruises  would  let  him. 

He  had  fallen  into  a  scrubby  growth  of 
wild  syringa,  which  flung  its  wax-white  blos- 
soms out  from  a  cranny  in  the  cliff,  less  than 
half-way  down.  As  he  crashed  into  it,  its 
tough  and  springy  mass  checked  his  fall 
enough  to  enable  him  to  get  a  firm  grasp 
with  his  hands.  He  hung  dangling  at  arm's 


240  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

length  against  the  cliff,  groping  for  a  tem- 
porary lodgment  for  his  feet.  In  the  dark- 
ness he  dimly  perceived  something  like  a 
ledge,  not  too  far  below  him,  towards  which 
the  face  of  the  bluff  sloped  slightly  out- 
wards. 

Flattening  himself  against  the  rock  he  let 
go  his  hold  and  slid,  clutching  and  grinding 
downward,  till  his  feet  struck  the  ledge. 
From  this  vantage,  after  getting  his  breath 
and  taking  a  deliberate  view  of  his  situation, 
it  was  not  a  difficult  feat  to  reach  the  slope 
of  broken  rock  below.  He  sat  there  while  the 
trembling  in  his  strained  muscles  subsided, 
scarcely  conscious  as  yet  of  his  torn  and 
scratched  and  bruised  condition.  He  was 
about  to  raise  his  voice  in  a  shout  to  assure 
Madeline  of  his  safety,  when  the  thought 
turned  him  sick  that,  unnerved  as  she  must 
be  with  the  sight  of  his  fall,  she  might  mis- 
take the  call  for  a  cry  for  help,  and  venture 
too  near  that  treacherous  edge  to  look  down. 
He  kept  still,  while  the  horror  grew  upon 
him  of  what  might  happen  to  Madeline 
alone  on  the  ledge,  or  trying  to  climb  the 
slippery  crevice  in  the  shadow  of  the  bluff. 
He  knew  that  a  mass  of  rock  had  fallen 


THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE.  241 

when  he  fell ;  was  there  space  enough  left 
on  the  ledge  by  which  she  could  safely  reach 
the  crevice  ?  He  could  not  resist  giving  one 
low  call,  speaking  her  name  as  distinctly 
and  quietly  as  he  could,  and  bidding  her  not 
move  but  listen.  There  was  no  answer ; 
the  roar  of  the  rapids,  borne  on  the  wind 
that  nightly  drew  down  the  canon,  drowned 
his  voice.  Madeline  did  not  hear  him.  He 
waited  until  the  silence  convinced  him  that 
she  was  no  longer  there  ;  then  he  took  his 
way  toilsomely  back  to  the  camp. 

A  light  showed  in  the  window  of  the 
office,  which  in  the  evening  was  usually 
dark.  He  found  the  family  assembled  there 
in  the  light  of  a  single  kerosene  lamp,  the 
flame  of  which  was  streaming  up  the  chimney 
unobserved,  while  vall  eyes  were  bent  upon 
Madeline,  seated  in  one  of  the  revolving 
office  chairs,  with  her  back  to  the  desk. 
She  leaned,  shivering  and  whispering,  to- 
wards her  sister,  who  knelt  on  the  floor  be- 
fore her,  holding  her  hands  and  staring  with 
a  fearful  interest  into  the  girl's  colorless 
face. 

The  men  who  stood  nearest  the  door 
turned  and  started  as  Aldis  entered. 


242  THE  FATE   OF  A    VOICE. 

"  Why,  good  God,  Aldis  !  "  Mr.  Duncan 
exclaimed.  "  Why,  man,  we  thought  you 
were  dead.  You  don't  mean  to  say  it 's  you 
—  all  of  you?" 

"  I  'm  all  here,"  said  Aldis. 

"  He  's  all  here,  Madeline,"  Mrs.  Duncan 
shouted  hysterically  to  the  girl,  as  if  she 
were  deaf  as  well  as  dumb. 

The  fateful  voice  was  undoubtedly  gone. 
Madeline  could  no  longer  plead  a  higher  call 
when  the  common  destiny  of  woman  was 
offered  her.  But  if  Aldis  had  thought  to 
profit  immediately  by  her  release  from  the 
claims  of  art,  he  was  disappointed. 

What  was  the  new  obstacle  ?  Only  some 
more  of  Madeline's  high-flown  nonsense,  as 
her  sister  called  it.  She  was  always  mak- 
ing a  heroic  situation  out  of  everything  that 
happened  to  her,  and  expecting  her  friends 
to  bear  her  out  in  it. 

On  the  night  of  the  adventure  on  the  cliff 
she  had  been  put  to  bed,  shaking  with  a  ner- 
vous chill.  Next  day's  packing  had  been 
suspended,  and  the  eastward  journey  post- 
poned. But  in  a  day  or  two  she  was  suffi- 
ciently recovered  to  be  walking  again  with 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  243 

Aldis  on  the  shore,  and  the  old  argument 
was  resumed  on  a  new  basis.  Madeline, 
pale  and  wistful,  with  Aldis's  head  very 
close  to  hers,  that  the  river's  intruding  roar 
might  not  drown  her  whispers,  protesting  — 
sometimes  with  sobs,  sometimes  with  sudden, 
tremulous  laughter  that  shook  her  with 
dumb  convulsions  hardly  more  mirthful  than 
the  sobs  — that  she  could  not  and  she  would 
not  burden  his  life  with  the  wreck  she  now 
passionately  proclaimed  herself  to  be. 

But  would  she  not  give  him  what  he 
wanted,  had  wanted,  should  continue  to 
want  and  to  try  for  so  long  as  they  both 
should  live  ? 

No,  he  did  n't  —  he  could  n't  possibly 
want  a  ridiculous  muttering  shadow  of  a 
woman  beside  him  all  the  days  of  his  life. 
It  was  only  his  magnanimity.  She  wondered 
he  could  believe  her  capable  of  the  mean- 
ness of  taking  advantage  of  it. 

Aldis  did  not  despair,  but  it  was  certainly 
difficult,  with  happiness  almost  within  his 
reach,  with  the  girl  herself  sometimes  sob- 
bing in  his  arms,  to  be  obliged  to  treat  this 
obstacle  as  seriously  as  Madeline  insisted 
it  should  be  treated.  He  appealed  to  Mrs, 


244  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

Duncan,  who  scolded  and  laughed  at  her 
sister  alternately,  and  quoted  with  elaborate 
particulars  a  surprising  number  of  similar 
cases  of  voices  lost  and  found  again  by 
means  of  care  and  skillful  treatment.  But 
hers  was  not  a  similar  case,  Madeline  vehe- 
mently declared.  It  was  not  from  a  cold, 
like  Mrs.  So  and  So's  ;  it  had  not  come  on 
gradually,  beginning  with  a  hoarseness,  like 
some  one's  else.  It  was  —  the  girl  believed 
in  her  heart  that  she  had  been  made  a  sin- 
gular and  impressive  example  of  the  folly 
and  wickedness  of  pride  in  an  exceptional 
gift,  and  of  triumph  in  its  corresponding  des- 
tiny. The  spirit  she  had  boasted  of  harbor- 
ing had  deserted  her.  She  deserved  her 
punishment,  but  she  would  not  permit  an- 
other's life  to  be  shadowed  by  it,  especially 
one  so  generous  —  who,  so  far  from  resent- 
ing her  refusal  of  the  whole  loaf,  was  con- 
tent, or  pretended  to  be,  with  the  broken  and 
rejected  fragments.  But  all  this  Madeline 
was  careful  to  keep  from  the  cheerful  irrev- 
erence of  her  sister's  comments.  She  fal- 
tered something  like  it  to  Aldis  in  one  of 
their  long  talks  by  the  river ;  his  low  tones 
answering  briefly  and  at  long  intervals  her 


THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  245 

piercing  whispers,  that  sometimes  almost 
shrieked  her  trouble  in  his  ear.  He  could 
feel  that  she  was  still  thrilling  with  the 
double  shock  she  had  suffered.  He  was  in- 
finitely tender  with  her,  and  patient  with 
her  extravagant  expositions  of  the  situa- 
tion between  them.  He  longed  to  heap  sav- 
age ridicule  upon  them,  but  he  forbore.  He 
listened  and  waited  and  let  her  talk  until 
she  was  worn  out,  and  then  they  were  hap- 
piest together.  For  a  few  moments  each 
day  it  seemed  that  she  might  drift  back  to 
him  on  the  ebb  of  that  overstrained  tide  of 
resistance,  and  be  at  rest. 

Madeline  was  always  impatient  of  any 
discussion  of  the  chances  of  her  recovery ; 
but  one  day,  just  before  the  time  of  their 
parting,  Aldis  surprised  and  captured  an 
admission  from  her  that  there  might  be  such 
a  chance.  Would  she  then,  on  the  strength 
of  that  possibility,  consent  to  be  engaged  to 
him  and  treat  him  as  her  accepted  lover, 
since  nothing  but  her  pride  now  kept  them 
apart  ? 

"Pride,"  Madeline  repeated;  "I  don't 
know  what  I  have  left  to  be  proud  of." 

"  There  is  a  kind  of  stiff-necked  humility 


246  THE  FATE    OF  A  VOICE. 

that  is  worse  than  pride,"  said  Aldis,  smil- 
ing at  the  easy  way  in  which  she  shirked  the 
logic  of  the  conclusion  he  was  forcing  upon 
her.  "  You  won't  consent  to  the  meanness, 
as  you  call  it,  of  giving  me  what  you  are 
pleased  to  consider  a  damaged  article,  a 
thing  with  a  flaw  in  it ;  as  if  a  woman 
would  be  moreN  lovable  if  she  were  proof 
against  all  wear  and  tear.  But  if  the  flaw 
can  be  healed,  if  there  is  a  possibility  that 
the  voice  may  come  back,  why  should  we  not 
be  engaged  on  that  hope  ?  " 

"  And  if  it  never  does,  will  you  promise 
to  let  me  release  you  ?  " 

"  You  can  release  me  at  any  time  —  now, 
if  you  like." 

"But  will  you  promise  to  take  your  re- 
lease when  I  give  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  We  will  see  about  that.  Perhaps  by 
the  time  your  voice  does  n't  come  back  I 
shall  have  been  able  to  make  you  believe 
that  it  is  n't  the  voice  I  care  for." 

"And  if  it  should  come  back,"  cried 
Madeline  with  sudden  enthusiasm,  "  I  shall 
have  my  triumph!  I  am  done  forever  with 
all  that  nonsense  about  Art  and  Destiny. 
If  my  voice  ever  does  come  back,  I  shall 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  247 

not  let  it  bully  me.  It  shall  not  decide  my 
fate.  You  will  see.  Oh,  how  I  wish  you 
might  see  !  I  have  learned  my  lesson  in  the 
true,  awful  values  of  things.  Thank  Heaven 
it  has  cost  no  more !  There  is  one  less  singer 
in  the  world,  perhaps,  but  there  is  not 
one  less  life.  Your  life.  If  you  had  lost  it 
that  night,  and  I  had  kept  my  voice,  do  you 
think  I  should  ever  have  had  any  joy  in  it 
again  —  ever  lifted  it  up,  as  I  boasted  to 
you  I  would  some  day,  before  crowds  of  lis- 
teners ?  Could  I  have  gone  before  the  foot- 
lights, bowing  and  smiling,  with  my  arms 
full  of  flowers,  and  remembered  your  face 
and  your  last  look  as  you  went  down  ?  " 

"  Then  it  is  settled  at  last,  voice  or  no 
voice?" 

"  Yes,  —  but  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  !  It 
will  not  come  back ;  I  know  it  never  will, 
and  I  shall  go  on  whispering  and  gibbering 
to  the  end  of  my  days,  and  all  your  friends 
will  pity  you  ;  it  is  such  a  painfully  conspic- 
uous thing !  " 

"  I  want  to  be  pitied.  I  am  just  pining 
to  be  an  object  of  general  compassion. 
Only  I  want  to  choose  what  I  shall  be  pitied 
for." 


248  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

"  Choose  ? "  said  Madeline  stupidly. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  chosen  ?  Now  be  as  sorry 
for  me  as  you  like.  And  we  '11  ask  for  the 
sympathy  of  the  camp  to-night.  It  will  be 
a  blow  to  the  boys  —  my  throwing  myself 
away  like  this  !  " 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are  !  "  sighed  Made- 
line. It  was  a  luxury,  after  all,  to  yield. 
And  perhaps  in  the  depths  of  her  conscious- 
ness, bruised  and  quivering  as  it  was,  there 
lingered  a  faint  image  of  herself,  as  a  charm- 
ing girl  sees  herself  reflected  in  those  flatter- 
ing mirrors,  the  eyes  of  friends,  kindred, 
and  adorers.  Voiceless,  futureless,  spoiled 
as  was  the  budding  prima  donna,  the  girl 
remained:  eighteen  years  old  and  fair  to 
look  upon,  with  perfect  health,  and  all  the 
mysterious,  fitful,  but  unquenchable  joy  of 
youth  thrilling  through  her  pulses.  Per- 
haps in  the  innocent  joy  of  her  own  inten- 
tions towards  him,  she  was  not  so  sorry  for 
Aldis  after  all.  The  sobs,  the  frantic  whis- 
pers died  away,  and  were  hushed  in  a  bliss- 
ful acquiescence.  She  was  not  less  fasci- 
nating to  her  lover  —  half  amazed  at  his  own 
sudden  triumph  —  in  her  blushing,  starry- 


THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE.  249 

eyed  silences,  than  she  had  been  in  all  the 
eager  redundance  of  her  lost  utterance. 
That  was  a  wonderful  last  day  for  the  young 
man  to  dream  over,  in  the  long  months  be- 
fore they  should  meet  again ! 

The  camp  had  moved  out  of  the  canon 
and  down  upon  the  desert  plains.  It  was  an 
open  winter.  Up  to  the  first  of  January  the 
contractors  had  been  able  to  keep  their  men 
at  work,  following  closely  the  locating  party. 

Aldis  rode  up  and  down  the  line,  putting 
in  fresh  stakes  for  the  contractors,  keeping 
them  true  to  the  line,  and  watching  incident- 
ally that  they  did  not  pad  their  embank- 
ments with  sage-brush.  His  summer  camp- 
dress  of  broad-shouldered,  breezy,  flannel 
shirt,  and  slender  -  waisted  trousers,  was 
changed  to  a  reefing-jacket,  double-buttoned 
to  the  chin,  long  boots,  and  helmet-shaped 
cap,  pulled  low  down  to  keep  the  wind  out 
of  his  eyes.  Strong  wintry  reds  and  browns 
replaced,  011  his  thin  cheek,  the  summer's 
pallor. 

Madeline  Hendrie,  dressing  for  dinner  at 
the  Sutherland  in  New  York,  where  she  and 
her  sister  were  spending  the  winter,  stood 


250  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

before  her  toilet -glass  fastening  her  laces, 
her  eyes  fixed  alternately  on  her  own  reflec- 
tion in  the  mirror  and  on  a  dim  photograph 
that  leaned  against  the  frame.  It  was  not  a 
bad  specimen  of  amateur  photography.  It 
represented  a  young  man  on  horseback  in 
a  wide  and  windy  country,  with  an  expression 
of  sadness  and  determination  in  the  dark 
eyes  that  looked  steadfastly  out  of  the  gray, 
toneless  picture. 

They  were  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in 
the  world,  Madeline  thought  to  herself ;  and 
sinking  on  her  knees  before  the  low  table, 
with  her  arms  crossed  on  the  lace,  rose-lined 
cover,  she  would  brood  in  a  fond,  luxurious 
melancholy  over  the  picture  —  over  the  som- 
bre line  of  plain  and  distant  mountain  and 
the  chilly  little  cluster  of  tents,  huddled 
close  together  by  the  river's  dark,  swift 
flood  flowing  between  icy  beaches,  below 
barren  shores,  where  a  few  leafless  willows 
shivered  and  the  wild-twisted  clumps  of  sage 
defied  the  cold. 

A  moment  later  she  was  rustling  softly 
down  the  corridor  at  her  sister's  side,  pass- 
ing groups  of  ladies  who  looked  after  them 
with  that  comprehensive  but  impersonal 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  251 

scrutiny  which  is  a  woman's  recognition  of 
anything  unusual  in  another's  dress  or  ap- 
pearance. Mrs.  Duncan  looked  her  sister 
over  with  a  quick,  intelligent  side  glance,  for 
those  silent  eye  comments  were  all  turned 
upon  Madeline.  She  could  see  nothing  amiss 
with  the  girl;  she  was  looking  very  lovely,  a 
trifle  absent.  Madeline  had  a  way  lately  of 
looking  as  if  she  were  alone  with  her  own 
thoughts,  on  occasions  when  other  women's 
faces  took  on  habitually  a  neutral  and  impas- 
sive expression.  It  made  her  conspicuous, 
as  if  hers  were  the  only  sensitive  human 
countenance  exposed  in  a  roomful  of  masks. 

"Why  do  you  never  wear  your  light 
dresses,  Madeline  ? "  said  Mrs.  Duncan, 
with  the  intention  of  rousing  the  girl  from 
her  untimely  dream.  "  You  are  very  effec- 
tive in  black,  with  your  hair,  but  I  should 
think  you  would  like  once  in  a  while  to  vary 
the  effect." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  am  studying  effects 
for  the  benefit  of  these  people  ?  I  am  sav- 
ing my  light  dresses." 

"  Saving  them  !    What  for  ?  " 

"  Do  you  never  save  up  a  pretty  dress  that 
Will  likes,  when  you  are  away  from  him  ?  " 


252  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

"  No,  indeed  I  don't.  It  would  get  out 
of  style,  and  he  would  see  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  with  it,  though  he  might  not 
know  what  it  was.  Dresses  won't  keep! 
Besides,  do  you  think  you  are  never  to 
have  any  new  ones,  now  you  are  engaged  to 
an  engineer  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  need  many  if  I  go  West,  and 
a  year  or  two  behind  won't  matter  to  —  my 
engineer  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  poor  innocent !  You  don't  know 
your  engineer  yet ;  and  you  don't  know 
your  West,  either.  And  one  is  always  hav- 
ing to  pack  up  and  come  East  at  short 
notice,  and  I  know  of  nothing  more  insup- 
portable than  to  find  one's  self  dumped  off 
an  overland  train  in  New  York  in  the  mid- 
dle of  winter,  for  instance,  with  a  veteran 
outfit  one  has  n't  had  the  strength  of  mind 
to  'give  to  the  poor,'  as  Will  says.  You 
never  know  how  your  clothes  look  till  you 
have  packed  them  up  on  one  side  of  the  con- 
tinent and  unpacked  them  on  the  other. 
And  let  me  tell  you  it  pays  to  dress  well  in 
camp.  Nothing  is  too  good  for  them,  poor 
things,  so  long  as  it  's  not  inappropriate. 
Do  you  suppose  a  man  ever  forgets  how  a 


THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE.  253 

woman  ought  to  look?  Wear  out  your 
things,  my  dear,  and  take  the  good  of  them 
before  they  get  passe,  and  let  the  future  take 
care  of  itself." 

Madeline  was  laughing,  and  the  dreamy 
soft  abstraction  had  vanished.  A  stranger 
might  look  into  her  liquid,  half-averted  eyes, 
and  see  no  more  there  than  was  meant  for 
the  passing  glance. 

Aldis  had  the  promise  of  a  month's  leave 
of  absence  in  March,  but  soon  after  the  1st 
of  January  the  weather  turned  suddenly  cold. 
The  contractors  took  their  men  off  the  work, 
and  the  time  of  Aldis's  leave  was  thus  antic- 
ipated by  two  months.  He  telegraphed  to 
Mrs.  Duncan  that  he  would  be  in  New  York 
by  the  15th,  allowing  for  all  contingencies. 

Madeline's  joy  over  the  telegram  was  in- 
creased by  one  small  item,  of  relief  from  the 
necessity  of  delaying  a  communication  which 
she  dreaded  making  by  letter.  With  rest 
and  skillful  treatment  her  voice  had  come 
back,  as  her  sister  had  prophesied,  in  its  full 
compass  and  purity.  Her  musical  instructor 
had  urged  her  to  try  it  once  upon  an  audi- 
ence, in  a  not  too  conspicuous  role,  before 
she  went  abroad  to  study  ;  for  Madeline  had 


254  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

not  yet  found  courage  to  confess  her  apos- 
tasy. 

The  temptation  to  sing  once  as  she  had  so 
often  dreamed  of  singing,  with  the  support 
of  a  magnificent  orchestra;  the  longing  to 
know  just  how  much  she  was  resigning  in 
turning  her  back  upon  a  musical  career, 
were  overmastering. 

Moreover,  her  music  was  the  sole  dowry 
with  which  she  could  enrich  her  husband's 
life.  She  had  a  curious,  persistent  humility 
about  herself,  apart  from  the  gift  which  she 
had  grown  to  consider  the  essential  quality 
of  her  being.  She  desired  intensely  to  know 
just  how  much  it  was  in  her  power  to  endow 
her  lover  with,  over  and  above  what  his 
generosity,  as  she  insisted  upon  calling  it, 
demanded.  For  Madeline  did  nothing  by 
halves.  She  could  abandon  herself  to  a  pas- 
sion of  surrender  as  completely  as  she  had 
done  to  the  fire  of  resistance ;  and  while  she 
was  about  it,  she  wished  to  feel  that  it  was 
no  paltry  thing  she  was  giving  up.  But  she 
was  wise  enough  in  her  love  to  reflect  that 
possibly  Aldis  might  not  be  able  fully  to 
enter  into  the  joy  of  her  magnificent  renun- 
ciation. There  might  be  a  pang,  an  uneasi- 


THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE.  255 

ness  to  him,  so  far  away  from  her,  in  the 
thought  that  his  old  enemy  was  again  in  the 
field.  So  Aldis  only  knew  this  much  of  her 
recovery,  that  she  could  speak  once  more  in 
her  natural  voice.  She  would  reserve  her 
triumph,  if  so  it  should  prove,  until  his 
home-coming,  when  she  could  lay  it  at  his 
feet  with  a  joyous  humility  and  such  assur- 
ances of  her  love  as  no  letter  could  convey. 

On  the  13th  of  January  she  was  to  be  the 
soloist  at  a  popular  concert  to  be  given  that 
evening  ;  one  of  a  series  where  the  char- 
acter of  the  music  and  of  the  audience  was 
exceedingly  good,  and  the  orchestral  support 
all  that  a  singer's  heart  could  desire.  On 
the  15th  Aldis  would  come  home. 

It  was  all  delightfully  dramatic;  and 
Madeline  was  not  yet  so  in  love  with  obscu- 
rity as  to  be  quite  indifferent  to  the  scenic 
element  in  life. 

In  his  telegram  Aldis  had  allowed  for  a 
two  days'  delay  on  business  at  Denver.  Ar- 
riving at  that  city,  however,  he  found  that, 
in  the  absence  of  one  of  the  principal  parties 
concerned,  his  business  would  have  to  be  de- 
ferred. He  was  therefore  due  in  New  York 
on  the  13th.  He  had  not  telegraphed  again 


256  THE  FATE  OF  A   VOICE. 

to  his  Eastern  friends ;  it  had  seemed  like 
making  too  much  of  a  ceremony  of  his  home- 
coming. He  dropped  off  the  train  from  the 
North  at  the  Grand  Central  Depot  in  the 
white  early  dusk  of  a  snowy  afternoon, 
when  the  quiet  up-town  streets  were  echoing 
to  the  sound  of  snow-shovels,  and  the  muffled 
tinkle  of  car-bells  came  at  long  intervals 
from  the  neighboring  avenues.  He  hurried 
ahead  of  the  long  line  of  passengers,  jumped 
on  the  rear  platform  of  a  crowded  car  that  was 
just  moving  off,  and  in  twenty  minutes  was 
at  his  hotel.  He  tried  to  master  his  great 
but  tremulous  joy,  to  dine  deliberately,  to 
do  his  best  for  his  outer  man,  before  pre- 
senting himself  to  Madeline  ;  but  his  lonely 
fancy  had  dwelt  so  long  and  with  such  in- 
tensity on  this  meeting  that  now  he  was 
almost  unnerved  by  the  nearness  of  the 
reality. 

The  reality  was  after  all  only  a  neat  maid, 
who  said,  as  he  offered  his  card  at  the  door 
of  Mrs.  Duncan's  apartment,  that  the  ladies 
were  both  out.  It  was  impossible  to  accept 
the  statement  simply  and  go  away.  Were 
the  ladies  out  for  the  evening?  he  asked. 
Yes,  they  had  gone  to  a  concert  or  the  opera, 


THE   FATE   OF  A   VOICE.  257 

or  something,  at  the  Academy  of  Music. 
Mrs.  Duncan  always  left  word  where  she 
was  going  when  she  and  Miss  Madeline  both 
went  out,  on  account  of  the  children.  The 
maid  looked  at  him  with  intelligent  friend- 
liness. She  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  name  on  the  card  she  held. 
She  waited  while  Aldis  scribbled  a  few  words 
on  another  card  which  he  asked  her  to  give 
to  Mrs.  Duncan  when  the  ladies  returned,  in 
case  he  should  miss  them  at  the  concert.  In 
the  street  he  debated  briefly  whether  to  en- 
dure a  few  more  hours  of  waiting,  or  hasten 
on  to  the  mixed  joy  of  a  meeting  in  a  crowd. 
Yet  such  meetings  were  not  always  infeli- 
citous. Delicious  moments  of  isolation  might 
come  to  two  in  a  great  assembly,  hushed, 
driven  together  in  a  storm  of  music.  There 
seemed  a  peculiar  fascinating  fitness  in  the 
situation.  Music,  which  had  threatened  to 
part  them,  should,  like  a  hireling,  celebrate 
their  reunion. 

The  violins  were  in  full  cry,  behind  the 
green  baize  doors,  mingling  with  the  clear, 
terse  notes  of  a  piano,  as  he  passed  into  the 
lobby  of  the  Academy.  While  he  waited 
for  the  concerto  to  end,  his  eyes  rested  me- 


258  THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE. 

chanically  upon  the  portraits  of  prima  don- 
nas, whose  names  were  new  to  him,  in  smiles 
and  low  corsages  and  wonderful  coiffures  of 
the  latest  fashion  ;  and  he  said  to  himself  that 
well  it  was  for  those  fair  dames,  but  not  for 
his  ladye  —  his  little  girl,  she  was  safe  among 
the  listeners,  unknown,  unpublished.  For 
her,  not  of  her,  the  loud  instruments  were 
speaking,  in  that  vast,  hushed,  resounding 
temple  of  music. 

He  would  see  her  first  with  her  rapt  face 
turned  towards  the  stage.  He  would  know 
her  by  the  outline  of  her  cheek,  her  little 
ear,  and  the  soft  light  tangle  of  curls  hiding 
her  temples.  She  would  not  be  exalted 
above  him  in  the  Olympian  circle  of  the 
boxes ;  she  would  be  in  the  balcony,  not  in 
full-dress,  but  with  some  marvel  of  a  little 
bonnet  framing  the  color  and  light  and 
sweetness  of  her  face.  Her  cloak  would 
have  slipped  down  from  her  smooth,  silken 
sleeves  and  shoulders.  In  his  restless,  wait- 
ing dream,  while  the  music  sank  and  swelled 
in  endless  cadences  behind  the  barriers,  he 
could  see  her  with  distracting  vividness  :  her 
listening  attitude,  her  lifted,  half-averted 
face,  her  slender  passive  hands  in  her  lap, 


THE  FATE    OF  A   VOICE.  259 

her  soft,  deep,  joyous  breathing  stirring  the 
lace  or  ribbons  at  her  throat. 

He  was  prepared  to  find  her  very  dainty 
and  unapproachably  elegant ;  there  had  been 
a  hint  of  such  formidable  but  delightful 
possibilities  in  the  cut  of  her  simple  camp 
dresses  and  in  the  way  she  wore  them.  He 
glanced  disconsolately  at  his  own  modestly 
dressed  person,  with  which  he  was  so  monot- 
onously familiar,  and  wondered  if  Madeline 
would  find  him  "  Western." 

The  concerto  was  over  at  last.  He  passed 
down  the  aisle  and  along  the  rear  wall  of 
the  balcony,  keeping  under  the  shadow  of 
the  first  tier  of  boxes,  while  he  took  a  survey 
of  the  house.  It  seemed  bewilderingly  bril- 
liant to  Aldis,  seeing  it  in  a  setting  of  fron- 
tier life  for  the  first  time  in  three  years ; 
a  much  more  complex  emotion  to  one  born 
to  the  life  around  him,  and  estranged  from 
it,  than  to  him  who  sees  it  for  the  first  time 
as  a  spectacle  in  which  he  has  never  had  a 
part.  It  was  with  rather  a  heart-sick  gaze 
he  searched  the  rows  and  rows  of  laughing 
women's  faces,  banked  like  flowers  against 
the  crimson  and  white  and  gold  of  the  par- 
titions. 


260  THE  FATE   OF  A   VOICE. 

Suddenly  the  murmur  pervading  the  house 
sank  into  an  expectant  silence  —  the  musi- 
cians' chairs  were  filling  up ;  but  only  the 
grayheaded  first  violins  were  leaning  to  their 
instruments  and  fingering  their  music.  The 
leader's  music-stand  had  been  moved  aside 
to  make  room  for  the  soloist,  a  young  de- 
butante, so  the  whispers  around  him  an- 
nounced, who  was  now  coming  forward, 
winding  her  silken  train  past  the  musicians' 
stands,  her  hand  in  that  of  the  leader.  Now 
she  sank  before  the  hushed  crowd,  dedicating 
to  it,  as  it  were,  herself,  her  beauty,  her 
song,  her  whole  blissful  young  presence 
there. 

Aid  is  crushed  the  unfolded  programme  he 
held  in  his  hand.  He  did  not  need  to  con- 
sult it  for  the  name  of  the  fair  young  can- 
didate. The  blood  rushed  into  his  face,  and 
then  left  it  deadly  white.  His  heart  was 
pounding  with  a  raging  excitement,  but  he 
did  not  move  or  take  his  eyes  from  Made- 
line's face.  She  stood,  faintly  smiling  down 
upon  the  crowd,  folding  and  unfolding  the 
music  in  her  hands,  while  the  orchestra 
played  the  prelude.  Then  on  the  deepen- 
ing silence  came  the  first  notes  of  her  voice. 


THE  FATE   OF  A   VOICE.  261 

Aldis  had  never  imagined  anything  like  the 
pang  of  delicious  pain  it  gave  him.  Its  per- 
sonality pierced  his  very  soul.  Every  word 
of  the  recitative,  in  the  singer's  pure  enun- 
ciation, could  be  heard.  The  song  was 
Heine's  "  Lorelei, "-with  Liszt's  music,  and 
the  orchestration  was  worthy  of  the  music, 

"  I  know  not  what  it  presages,"  —  the 
recitative  began,  —  "  this  heart  with  sad- 
ness fraught."  Aldis  took  a  deep,  hard 
breath.  He  knew  the  story  that  was  coin- 
ing. The  rocks,  the  river,  the  evening  sky 
—  he  knew  them  all.  Had  she  forgotten  ? 
Did  the  great  god  Music  deprive  a  woman 
of  her  memory,  her  tender  womanly  com- 
punction, as  well  as  her  heart?  Was  this 
beautiful  creature,  with  eyes  alight  and  soft 
throat  swelling  to  the  notes  of  her  song, 
merely  a  voice,  after  all,  celebrating  its  own 
triumph  and  another's  allurement  and  de- 
spair ?  Was  the  heart  that  beat  under  the 
laces  that  covered  that  white  bosom  merely 
a  subtle  machine  for  setting  free  those  won- 
derful sounds  that  floated  down  to  him  and 
seemed  to  bid  him  farewell  ? 

Now,  in  a  wild  crescendo,  with  a  hurry  of 
chords  in  the  accompaniment,  the  end  has 


262  THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE. 

come ;  the  boat  and  man  are  lost.  Then 
an  interlude,  and  the  pure,  pitiless  voice 
again,  lamenting  now,  not  triumphing  — 
"And  this,  with  her  magic  singing,  the 
Lorelei  hath  done  —  the  Lorelei  hath  done." 
The  song  died  away  and  ceased  in  mourn- 
ful repetitions,  and  the  audience  gave  itself 
up  to  a  transport  of  applause.  It  had  won 
—  a  new  singer  ;  and  he  had  lost  —  only  his 
wife.  He  stood  there,  unknown  and  un- 
heeded, a  pitiful  minority  of  one,  and  ac- 
cepted his  defeat. 

The  frantic  clappings  continued.  They 
were  demanding  an  encore.  The  friendly 
old  fellows  in  the  orchestra  were  looking  back 
across  the  stage  to  welcome  the  singer's  re- 
turn. They  had  assisted  at  the  triumph  of 
so  many  young  aspirants  and  queens  of  the 
hour.  This  one  was  coming  back,  flushed 
and  smiling,  her  face  beautiful  in  its  new 
joy,  as  she  sank  down  again  with  her  arms 
full  of  flowers,  gratefully,  submissively,  be- 
fore the  audience  at  whose  command  she  was 
there.  The  great  house  was  enchanted  with 
her  and  with  its  own  unexpected  enthusiasm. 
A  joyous  thrill  and  murmur,  the  very  breath 
of  that  adulation  which  is  dearest  to  the 


THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE.  263 

goddess  of  the  foot-lights,  floated  up  to  the 
intoxicated  girl,  wrapt  in  the  wonder  of  her 
own  success.  Aldis  could  bear  no  more.  He 
made  his  way  out,  pursued  by  the  furious 
clappings,  by  the  silence,  by  the  first  thrill- 
ing notes  of  the  encore.  He  walked  the 
streets  for  hours,  then  went  to  his  room, 
and  threw  himself,  face  downward,  on  his 
bed.  The  lace  curtains  of  his  window  let 
in  a  pallid  glimmer  from  the  electric  lights 
in  the  square,  —  a  ghastly  fiction  of  a  moon 
that  never  waxes  nor  wanes.  The  night  spent 
itself,  the  tardy  winter  morning  crept  slowly 
over  the  city  and  wrapt  it  in  chill  sea  fog. 

Mrs.  Duncan  woke  with  a  hoarse  feverish 
cold,  and  wished  that  she  had  given  Aldis's 
card  and  message  to  Madeline  the  night  be- 
fore. She  had  kept  them  from  her,  sure 
that  they  would  rob  the  excited  girl  of  what 
was  left  of  her  night's  sleep.  Now  she  felt 
too  ill  to  make  the  disclosure  and  face  Mad- 
eline's alarm.  She  waited,  with  cowardly 
procrastination,  until  the  late  breakfast  was 
over  and  her  little  girls  had  been  hurried 
off  to  school.  She  and  Madeline  had  drawn 
their  chairs  close  to  the  soft  coal  fire  to  talk 
over  the  concert,  Madeline  with  a  heap  of 


264:  THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE. 

morning  papers  in  her  lap,  through  which 
she  was  looking  for  the  musical  notices, 
when  Mrs.  Duncan  gave  her  Aldis's  note. 
It  required  no  explanation  or  comment.  It 
said  that  he  .hoped  to  find  them  at  the  Acad- 
emy of  Music,  but  if  he  failed  to  do  so,  this 
was  to  prepare  them  for  an  early  call ;  he 
was  corning  as  early  as  he  could  hope  to  see 
them, — nine  o'clock,  he  suggested,  with  in- 
sistence that  made  itself  felt  even  in  the 
careless  words  of  the  note.  It  was  now  nearly 
ten  o'clock ;  he  had  not  come.  The  gray 
morning  turned  a  sickly  yellow  and  the 
streets  looked  wet  and  dirty.  The  papers 
were  tossed  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  where 
Mrs.  Duncan  had  taken  refuge  from  Made- 
line's restless  wanderings  about  the  room. 

A  mass  of  hot-house  roses,  trophies  of  the 
evening's  triumph,  were  displayed  on  the 
closed  piano,  shedding  their  languid  sweet- 
ness unheeded  ;  except  once  when  Madeline 
stopped  near  them,  and  exclaimed  to  her 
sister :  — 

"  Oh,  do  tell  Alice  to  take  those  flowers 
away !  "  and  the  next  moment  seemed  to  for- 
get they  were  still  there. 

The   ladies   breakfasted   and  lunched  in 


THE  FATE    OF  A   VOICE.  265 

their  own  rooms,  dining  only  in  the  restau- 
rant below.  When  lunch  was  announced, 
Mrs.  Duncan  rose  from  her  heap  of  shawls 
and  sofa-cushions  and  went  to  the  window, 
where  Madeline  stood  gazing  out  into  the 
yellow  mist  that  hid  the  square. 

"Come,  girlie,  come  out  and  keep  me 
company.  A  watched  pot  never  boils,  you 
know." 

"  Do  you  want  any  lunch  ? "  Madeline 
asked  incredulously. 

Mrs.  Duncan  did  not  want  any,  but  she 
was  willing  to  pretend  that  she  did  for  the 
sake  of  interrupting  the  girl's  unhappy  watch. 

The  two  women  sat  down  opposite  each 
other  in  the  little  dark  dining-room,  the  one 
window  of  which  looked  into  a  dingy  well 
inclosed  by  the  many-storied  walls  of  the 
house.  The  gas  was  burning,  but  enough 
gray  daylight  mingled  with  it  to  give  a 
sickly  paleness  to  the  faces  it  illumined. 

There  was  a  letter  lying  by  Madeline's 
plate. 

"  When  did  this  come  ?  "  she  demanded 
of  Alice,  the  maid. 

"  They  sent  it  up,  miss,  with  the  lunch- 
tray." 


266  THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Madeline.  "  It  may  have 
been  lying  there  in  the  office  for  hours  !  " 

She  read  a  few  words  of  the  letter,  got  up 
from  the  table,  and  left  the  room.  Mrs. 
Duncan  gave  her  a  few  moments  to  herself, 
and  then  followed  her.  She  was  in  the  par- 
lor, turning  over  the  heap  of  papers  in  a 
distracted  search  for  something  which  she 
could  not  seem  to  find. 

"  Oh,  Sallie,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up 
piteously  at  her  sister,  "  won't  you  find 
when  the  Boston  Shore  line  train  goes  out  ? 
I  think  it  is  two  o'clock,  and  it  's  after  one 
now." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know  about  the 
Boston  trains  ?  " 

"  Read  that  letter  —  I  'm  going  to  try  to 
see  him  before  he  starts  —  read  the  let- 
ter !  "  she  repeated,  in  answer  to  her  sister's 
amazed  expostulatory  stare.  She  ran  out 
of  the  room  while  Mrs.  Duncan  was  reading 
the  letter,  and  in  her  own  chamber  tore  off 
her  wrapper  and  began  dressing  for  the 
street.  Mrs.  Duncan  heard  bureau-drawers 
flying  open  and  hurried  footsteps  as  she 
read.  This  was  Aldis's  letter  :  — 


THE  FATE  OF  A  .VOICE.  267 

Wednesday  morning. 

DEAR  MADELINE, —  I  saw  you  at  the  Academy 
last  night  when  the  verdict  was  given  that  sepa- 
rates us. 

The  destiny  I  would  not  believe  in  has  become 
a  reality  to  me  at  last.  I  must  stand  aside,  and 
let  it  fulfill  itself. 

Last  night  I  accused  you  of  bitter  things  —  you 
can  imagine  what,  seeing  you  so,  without  any 
forewarning ;  but  I  am  tolerably  sane  this  morn- 
ing. I  know  that  nothing  of  all  that  maddened 
me  is  true,  except  that  I  love  you  and  must  give 
you  back  to  your  fate  that  claims  you.  You  were 
never  mine  except  by  default. 

I  am  going  on  to  Boston  this  afternoon.  I 
cannot  trust  myself  to  see  you.  I  could  not  bear 
your  compassion  or  your  remorse,  and  if  you 
were  to  offer  me  more  than  that,  God  knows 
what  sacrifice  I  might  not  be  base  enough  to  ac- 
cept, face  to  face  with  you  again. 

Good-by,  my  dearest,  my  only  one.  I  think 
nothing  can  ever  hurt  me  much  after  this.  But 
do  not  grieve  over  what  neither  of  us  could  have 
helped.  The  happiness  of  one  man  should  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  free  exercise  of  a  divine 
gift  like  yours,  and  the  memory  of  our  summer 
in  the  canon  —  of  our  last  days  there  together, 
when  my  soul  set  itself  to  the  music  of  those 


268  THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE. 

silences  between  us  —  that  is  still  mine.     Noth- 
ing can  take  that  from  me.     Yours  always. 

HUGH  ALDIS. 

"  Madeline,  you  are  not  going  after  him  !  " 
Mrs.  Duncan  protested,  looking  up  from  the 
letter  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  as  her  sister  en- 
tered the  parlor,  in  cloak  and  bonnet. 

Madeline  heard  the  protest ;  she  did  not 
see  the  tears. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  —  help  me,  Sallie  ! 
Can't  you  see  what  I  have  done?  Find  me 
that  Boston  train,  won't  you  ?  I  know  there 
is  one  in  the  evening,  but  he  said  afternoon. 
Where  is  it  ? "  she  wailed,  turning  over 
with  trembling  hands  sheet  after  sheet  of 
bewildering  columns  which  mocked  her  with 
advertisements  of  musical  entertainments, 
and  even  with  her  own  name  staring  at  her 
in  print. 

"  The  train  goes  at  two  o'clock,  but  you 
shall  not  go  racing  up  there  after  him,  you 
crazy  girl !  I  'd  go  myself,  only  I  'm  too  sick. 
I  'm  awfully  sorry  for  him,  but  he  '11  come 
back  — they  always  do  —  and  give  you  a 
chance  to  explain." 

"  Explain  !  I  'm  going  to  see  him  for  one 


THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  269 

instant  if  I  can.  I  've  got  just  twenty  min- 
utes, and  nothing  on  earth  shall  stop  me  !  " 

"  Alice,"  Mrs.  Duncan  called  down  the 
passage,  as  Madeline  shut  the  outer  door, 
"  put  on  your  things  and  go  after  Miss  Mad- 
eline, quick  —  Third  Avenue  Elevated  to 
the  Grand  Central.  You  '11  catch  her  if  you 
hurry,  before  she  gets  up  the  steps." 

Mistress  and  maid  reached  the  Grand 
Central  station  together,  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore the  train  moved  out.  The  last  of  the 
line  of  passengers,  ticket  in  hand,  were  filing 
past  the  door-keeper.  It  needed  but  a  glance 
to  assure  Madeline  that  Aldis  was  not  among 
them.  It  would  be  safer,  she  decided 
quickly,  to  get  out  upon  the  platform  in 
broadside  view  from  the  windows  of  the 
train.  If  Aldis  were  already  on  the  train, 
or,  better  still,  on  the  platform,  and  should 
see  her,  Madeline  felt  sure  he  would  in- 
stantly know  why  she  was  there. 

"  I  only  want  to  see  a  friend  who  is  going 
by  the  Boston  train,"  she  said  to  the  door- 
keeper. "  I  'm  not  going  myself."  He  hes- 
itated, and  said  something  about  his  orders. 
"  If  I  must  have  a  ticket,  my  maid  will  get 
me  one,  but  I  cannot  wait ;  you  must  let 


270  THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE. 

me  through !  "  She  handed  her  purse  to 
Alice.  The  man  at  the  gate  said  he  guessed 
it  was  no  matter  about  a  ticket.  He  looked 
curiously  after  her  as  she  sped  along  the 
platform  —  such  a  pretty  girl,  her  cheeks  red 
and  her  hair  all  out  of  crimp  with  the  damp- 
ness, but  with  a  sob  in  her  voice  and  eyes 
strained  wide  with  trouble  ! 

44  Last  train  down  on  the  right ! "  he 
called  after  her.  "  You  '11  have  to  hurry." 
Ominous  clouds  of  steam  were  puffing  out 
of  a  smoke-stack  far  ahead  of  her ;  men 
were  swinging  themselves  aboard  from  the 
platform  where  they  had  been  walking  up 
and  down. 

"Boston  Shore  line,  miss?"  a  porter 
lounging  by  his  empty  truck  called  to  Made- 
line as  she  came  panting  up  to  the  rear  car. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  she  sobbed.     "  Is  it  gone  ?  " 

The  train  gave  one  heavy,  clanking  lurch 
forward.  The  porter  laughed,  caught  her 
by  the  arms,  and  swung  her  lightly  up  to 
the  platform  of  the  last  car.  The  brakeman 
seized  her  and  shunted  her  in  at  the  door. 
The  train  was  in  motion.  She  clung  wildly 
to  the  door-handle  a  moment,  looking  back, 
and  then  sank  into  the  nearest  seat  and  burst 


THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  271 

into  tears.  Curious  glances  were  cast  at  her 
from  the  neighboring  seats,  but  Madeline 
was  oblivious  of  everything  but  the  gro- 
tesque misery  of  her  situation.  What  would 
Alice  think,  and  what  would  poor,  frantic 
Sallie  think,  what  even  would  the  man  at 
the  gate  think,  who  had  taken  her  word  in- 
stead of  a  ticket!  The  conductor  came 
round  after  a  while,  and  Madeline  appealed 
to  him.  She  had  been  put  on  the  train  by 
mistake.  She  had  no  money  and  no  ticket, 
but  there  was,  she  thought,  a  friend  of  hers 
aboard  —  would  the  conductor  kindly  find 
out  for  her  if  a  Mr.  Aldis  were  in  any  of 
the  forward  cars,  and  tell  him  that  a  lady,  a 
friend  of  his,  wished  to  see  him  ? 

The  conductor  had  a  broad,  purple,  smooth- 
shaven  cheek,  which  overflowed  his  stiff  shirt- 
collar  ;  he  stroked  the  tuft  of  coarse  beard 
on  the  end  of  his  chin,  as  he  assured  the 
young  lady  that  she  need  not  distress  her- 
self. He  would  find  the  gentleman  if  he 
were  on  the  train.  Was  he  a  young  gentle- 
man, for  instance  ? 

"Yes,  he  was  young  and  tall,  and  had 
dark  eyes  "  —  Suddenly  Madeline  stopped 
and  blushed  furiously,  meeting  the  conduct- 


272  THE  FATE  OF  A  VOICE. 

or's  small  and  merry  eye  fixed  upon  her  in 
the  abandonment  of  her  trouble. 

The  door  banged  behind  him.  The  car 
swayed  and  leaped  on  the  track  as  the  mo- 
tion of  the  train  increased.  A  long  interval, 
then  a  loud  crash  of  noise  from  the  wheels 
as  the  door  opened  again  at  the  forward  end 
of  the  car.  A  gentleman  was  coming  down 
the  aisle,  looking  from  side  to  side  as  if  in 
search  of  some  one. 

Madeline  squeezed  herself  back  into  the 
corner  of  her  seat  next  the  window.  The 
blood  dropped  out  of  her  hot  cheeks  and 
stifled  her  breathing.  She  turned  away  her 
face,  and  buried  it  in  her  muff  as  some  one 
stopped  at  her  seat,  and  said,  leaning  with 
one  hand  on  the  back  of  it,  "  Is  this  the  lady 
who  wished  to  see  me  ?  " 

Aldis's  face  was  as  white  as  her  own.  His 
hand  gripped  the  seat  to  hide  its  shaking. 
Madeline  swept  back  her  skirts,  and  he  took 
the  seat  beside  her.  A  long  silence.  Made- 
line's cheek  and  profile  emerged  from  the 
muff  and  became  visible  in  rosy  silhouette 
against  the  blank  white  mist  outside  the  win- 
dow. Her  color  had  come  back. 

"  Did  you  get  my  letter  ?  " 


THE  FATE   OF  A  VOICE.  273 

"  Yes.     That  is  what  brought  me  here." 

Another  silence.  Madeline  slid  the  hand 
next  to  Aldis  out  of  her  muff.  He  took  no 
notice  of  it  at  first,  then  suddenly  his  own 
closed  over  it,  and  crushed  it  hard. 

"  You  must  not  go  to  Boston  to-night," 
she  whispered. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  am  in  such  trouble !  —  I  had 
to  see  you,  after  that  letter.  I  ran  after  the 
train,  and  they  caught  hold  of  me  and  put 
me  on  before  I  knew  what  they  were  doing ; 
and  here  I  am  without  a  ticket  or  a  cent  of 
money  —  and  all  because  you  would  not 
come  and  let  me  —  tell  you  "  —  She  had 
hidden  her  face  again  in  her  muff. 

"  Tell  me  —  what  ?  "  His  head  was  close 
to  hers,  his  arm  against  her  shoulder.  He 
could  feel  her  long,  shuddering  sobs. 

"  How  could  I  come  ?  "  he  said. 

She  did  not  answer.  The  roar  and  rattle 
of  the  train  went  sounding  on.  It  was  very 
interesting  to  the  people  in  the  car;  but 
Madeline  had  forgotten  them,  and  Aldis 
cared  no  more  for  the  files  of  faces  than  if 
they  had  been  the  rocky  fronts  of  the  bluffs 
that  had  kept  a  summer's  watch  over  him 


274  THE  FA  TE  OF  A   VOICE. 

and  the  girl  beside  him,  and  the  noise  of 
the  train  had  been  the  far-off  river's  roar. 
He  was  in  a  dream  which  could  not  last  too 
long. 

Madeline  lifted  her  head,  and  through  the 
lulling  din  he  heard  her  voice  saying  :  — 

"  Oh,  the  river  !  I  seemed  to  hear  it  last 
night  when  I  was  singing,  and  the  light  on 
the  rocks  —  do  you  remember  ?  And  I  was 
so  glad  the  rest  was  not  true.  And  then 
your  letter  came  " 

"  Never  mind  ;  nothing  is  true  —  only 
this,"  he  roused  himself  to  say. 

The  crowded  train  went  roaring  and  sway- 
ing on,  as  it  had  during  all  the  days  and 
nights  of  his  journey  home,  mingling  its 
monotone  with  the  dream  that  was  coming 
true  at  last. 

Somewhere  in  that  vague  and  rapidly  les- 
sening region  known  as  the  frontier,  there 
disappeared,  a  few  years  ago,  a  woman's 
voice.  A  soprano  with  a  wonderful  mezzo 
quality,  those  who  knew  it  called  it,  and  the 
girl,  besides  her  beauty,  had  quite  a  distinct 
promise  of  dramatic  power.  But,  they  added, 
she  seemed  to  have  no  imagination,  no  con- 


THE  FATE  OF  A    VOICE.  275 

ception  of  the  value  of  her  gifts.  She  threw 
away  a  charming  career,  just  at  its  outset, 
and  went  West  with  a  husband  —  not  any- 
body in  particular.  It  was  altogether  a 
great  pity.  Perhaps  she  had  not  the  artistic 
temperament,  or  was  too  indolent  to  give  the 
time  and  labor  required  for  the  perfecting  of 
her  rare  gift  —  at  all  events  the  voice  was  lost. 

But  in  the  camps  of  engineers,  within 
sound  of  unknown  waters,  on  mountain  trails, 
or  crossing  the  windy  cattle-ranges,  or  in  the 
little  churches  of  the  valley  towns,  or  at  a 
lonely  grave  perhaps,  where  his  comrades 
are  burying  some  unwitting,  unacknowledged 
hero,  dead  in  the  quiet  doing  of  his  duty, 
a  voice  is  sometimes  heard,  in  ballad  or 
gay  roulade,  anthem  or  requiem,  —  a  voice 
those  who  have  heard  it  say  they  will  never 
forget. 

Lost  it  may  be  to  the  history  of  famous 
voices,  but  the  treasured,  self -prized  gifts  are 
not  those  that  always  carry  a  blessing  with 
them  ;  and  the  soul  of  music,  wherever  it  is 
purely  uttered,  will  find  its  listeners ;  though 
it  be  a  voice  singing  in  the  wilderness,  in 
the  dawn  of  the  day  of  art  and  beauty  which 
is  coming  to  a  new  country  and  a  new  people. 


I  UNIVERSITY  ) 


